Sexting Tywin Lannister
by BlueEyesBlueSkies
Summary: Alternate Universe- Modern Setting. Sansa is in college and Tywin is Joffrey's widowed grandfather. Began as a one-shot with very little plot, and quite a bit of smut, but I'm now going to continue it (though it is still very little plot and mostly smut). I'll be updating sporadically as the inspiration comes to me! :) As of 8/6/16- Chapter 2 posted.
1. Chapter 1

Sansa stood in a sea of swimsuits, piles climbing so high of castoffs she was worried she wouldn't be able to actually climb out and leave the dressing room anytime this century. Margaery had just _insisted_ she get a new swimsuit before the pool party Robert Baratheon hosted ever year, exclaiming that she simply _must_ have something new if she ever _hoped_ to catch Joffrey's eye.

So she'd grumblingly agreed, despite the fact that they were now halfway through college and he still had yet to look beyond Margaery's sunny smile and shapely curves to even notice Sansa was there, slumping behind her as usual, feeling for all the world like a dandelion invading in a flowerbed of rosebushes.

Nearly fifty bikinis later (or so it felt like, though she had to admit she might have been a teensy bit dramatic) Sansa had narrowed it down to two options. The first was a very simple, very sexy light blue number with ties on both sides of the bottoms, and a matching halter top with a pretty little bow in the center of her chest between the two thin triangles that covered her breasts. Well, _mostly_. That was one area where she, thank the gods, had Margaery beat.

The second bikini was far more ostentatious, with a padded halter in a dizzying array of stripes of all different pastels, and a pretty twist to style up the crease between her now overflowing breasts. The bottom was simple, in a matching fabric pattern, but very slim in the actual coverage it provided in the backside department.

She had tried each one on multiple times, but just couldn't decide which was more flattering. The blue was elegant, simple, and classic; the patterned flashy, sexy, and sure to garner more than her fair share of attention. But would Joffrey really prefer the, if she were honest, sluttier option?

Did she actually _want_ Joffrey if he did?

Sighing in frustration, and knowing that on a college budget there was no way she could afford to buy both, Sansa decided to snap a few pics of her in each bikini, and send them to Margaery for her, hopefully quick, input. Feeling a little wicked for daring to take scandalous photos in the dressing room, she tried to make the poses as blunt yet flattering as possible, before quickly redressing in her plaid shorts, t-shirt and flip flops.

Strolling out with both suits slung into her shopping basket, she decided it wouldn't hurt to stroll through the accessories as she waited for Margaery's reply. She'd organized her phone by last name, and without paying much attention selected all of the pictures, scrolled down to the first T, for Margaery was always first, and hit send.

 **Sansa: Which one?**

Several minutes later Sansa heard her phone vibrate with the reply as she was trying on a new sunhat, and quickly hurried to unlock the screen to see which suit Margaery chose.

Sansa frowned in confusion at the name on the screen, not understanding for the life of her why she'd gotten a text from none other than Joffrey's widowed grandfather, Tywin Lannister. With a sinking swoop in her stomach and an increasing amount of dread, she nearly dropped her phone in her haste to slide open the text message, already having the dizzying feeling that she'd made a terrible mistake.

 **Tywin: Blue.**

Sansa felt her entire body shake as her face flamed brighter than her hair at her embarrassment, and she quickly tried to type out a reply that would perhaps, with a hope and a prayer, lessen just a little bit her mortification.

 **Sansa: Mr. Lannister, I am so sorry. I had meant to send those to my friend and apparently selected you by mistake.**

And then, because she was already damned and she just couldn't help herself-

 **Sansa: The blue one though? Truly?**

Biting her lip as she saw the … pop up on her screen to indicate he was typing, she anxiously awaited his response.

 **Tywin: I feel at this point we are past formalities, Ms. Stark. If you would, please call me Tywin.**

 **Tywin: … Yes, I've taken the liberty of a second review, and can assure you the blue is far more flattering.**

Huffing in annoyance, and momentarily forgetting her mind and the fact that she should the positively humiliated, she couldn't help but question his claim.

 **Sansa: What?! What was wrong with the striped one? I thought it was quite flattering, just perhaps a bit to showy.**

 **Tywin: It certainly highlighted your… assets. I find that a woman of refinement and taste does not need any… highlights… to shine.**

Blushing as she read his text and made her way to the register, she couldn't help the silly grin that spread over her face as she typed out a reply.

 **Sansa: Are you saying I am a woman of refinement who shines on her own, Tywin? My, I hadn't known you to be a feminist.**

She handed the clerk at the register her credit card, and pretended to ignore the little flip in her stomach when she felt the vibrations of his reply in her pocket. Making her way to her car, she was actually quite proud of herself for waiting to respond until she was buckled in and turning on the engine, letting the air cool down the cabin.

 **Tywin: I am a connoisseur of all things of the feminine persuasion, Sansa.**

Blushing lightly at the dirty thoughts that text led her down, she opted to wait until her hormones had cleared, and her mind had snapped back to the reality that she was texting Joffrey's _grandfather_ , and purposefully neglected to pick back up her phone to reply until she was parked in the lot outside her apartment, engine turned off.

Clicking on the button on the screen, she saw she'd missed another text from Tywin.

 **Tywin: Which swimsuit did you purchase?**

 **Sansa: The blue.**

 **Tywin: Good girl.**

The next night, as Sansa got ready for bed, she couldn't stop giggling from her exchange the day before with Tywin Lannister. Even though it was completely appalling and more than a little mortifying that she'd accidentally sent him pictures in a bathing suit, she was more than a little turned on by the thought that maybe _he_ had been turned on by it.

I mean, he was certainly engaged in their conversation, replying within minutes of each of her texts. Plus, he'd given her advice, and hinted that she shone without needing a flashy swimsuit. And she couldn't forget about that text about things of the feminine persuasion. Did he mean that as dirty as she thought he did?! Did she want to find out?!

Yes, she most certainly did. With a little liquid courage in the form of a tall glass of wine, Sansa sat back in the pillows on her bed and sent another text to Tywin Lannister.

 **Sansa: Busy?**

Before she could even close the Messages tab she could see the … indicating he was replying.

 **Tywin: Yes. How may I be of service, Sansa?**

She pursed her lips and swallowed back the odd sense of disappointment she felt at his response, hastily bidding him a goodnight.

 **Sansa: I apologize for the interruption. Have a nice evening!**

Sitting her phone down on her nightstand, she reached for her book, not even able to flip open to her bookmark before she heard the distinctive buzz of a reply, reverberating into her lamp.

 **Tywin: What do you need?**

Swallowing down her nerves and biting her lip to catch her smile, Sansa frowned as she realized she actually hadn't had a _plan_. She'd just wanted to talk to him, and maybe find out what exactly he'd meant by feminine pursuits. But she certainly couldn't just _ask_ him that…

A sly grin spread as heat lit up her cheeks, so she swallowed down the rest of her glass of wine before she let her nerves get the better of her.

 **Sansa: I was wondering if your expertise on feminine pursuits extended beyond swimsuits…?**

 **Tywin: Most assuredly. Please, continue.**

Grinning, she stood up and walked with giddy purpose over towards her dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out several sets of lingerie Margaery had forced her to buy "just in case Joffrey does notice you and asks you out". She considered trying them on but blushed so fiercely she knew she just couldn't go through with it. Theoretically, she realized this wasn't all that different from a bathing suit, but it just felt so… _personal_ , with all that sheer fabric and lace.

Arranging the three tops and bottoms artfully across her bedspread, Sansa snapped a picture and sent it along to Tywin.

 **Sansa: What do you recommend?**

There was a long pause, and Sansa felt the butterflies in her belly might just fly right out of her chest at the thought that perhaps he was never being flirtatious with her at all. Maybe he was just being polite, and she'd stupidly read something that wasn't there into those texts? Maybe she was _insane_ for texting someone's _grandfather_ a picture of lingerie?! Good gods, what was the _matter_ with her?

The vibrating phone on her nightstand snapped her attention, and she reached out and flicked open his reply impatiently.

 **Tywin: It would depend on the lady. Perhaps a visual demonstration might be appropriate?**

Turning down her overhead light so that only her softer lamp lit up the room, Sansa stripped down and took turns modeling each set in front of her full-length mirror, careful to hide her face as she twisted and turned, catching the right angle before snapping a series of pictures.

Wondering what in seven hells she was doing, she quickly collected the images and hit send, noting the insistent tingling sensation beginning to overwhelm the apex between her thighs.

Ten minutes later, when he still had yet to respond, Sansa began to wonder whether this was all some trick, and perhaps he was sending the images to the newspaper, blowing them up and passing them around to friends, or gods, emailing them to her _parents?_ Just as she began to prepare her apology, seated on her comforter in the third set of lingerie, her phone lit up with a response.

 **Tywin: I apologize for the delay, I was just returning home from a fundraiser and was unable to appreciate each image… appropriately.**

 **Sansa: Understandable. Please, take your time.**

 **Tywin: Thank you.**

 **Tywin: Are you wearing one of these sets now, by chance?**

 **Sansa: I am, the gold and crimson one, with the lace scallops and the ties made from ribbons.**

 **Tywin: I find I am unable to pass judgment until you tell me more about each garment. Please make yourself comfortable on your pillows, follow my instructions implicitly, and I will be able to help you decide.**

By now she was quite certain a wetness was trickling down to dampen the silk of the panties she was wearing, and she hoped beyond hope that Tywin was headed where she thought he was headed with this line of inquiry.

His next text made it quite clear.

 **Tywin:** **Tell me about the lace cups covering your breasts, Sansa. Is the lace soft as silk or scratchy and rough against your nipples?**

 **Sansa: Soft, and it shifts when I move.**

 **Tywin: And are you moving now?**

 **Sansa: I was settling into a more… comfortable… position.**

 **Tywin: I see. Are you able to text with one hand?**

 **Sansa: I am.**

 **Tywin: Very good. If you would, please use your left hand to lightly graze your fingertips across the delicate skin of your throat. Starting with the swath of skin below the lobe of your ear, trail your fingers around your neck, and then across first one, then the other, collarbone.**

 **Sansa: Yes?**

 **Tywin: Now, lightly trace the strap holding up that lacy bra, fingering the edging as you lightly brush against the skin, from the top of your shoulder down to the top of the triangle covering your breast.**

 **Tywin: Follow the edge of the lacing, and trace up and down, over and around, each scallop on the bra, teasing the tops of your beautiful breasts, down around the sides, until you gently brush the soft skin of your belly, high on your ribs.**

 **Tywin: Are you breathing heavier, Sansa?**

 **Sansa: I am, I confess I am nearly panting and my legs are shifting uncomfortably.**

 **Tywin: What do your breasts look like, heaving as your chest rises and falls with excitement, your alabaster skin flushed a beautiful shade of pink?**

 **Sansa: They are nearly spilling out of the lace, Tywin, and my nipples are straining uncomfortably against the fabric. It feels quite scratchy now, actually.**

 **Tywin: Perhaps it would be best if you removed it?**

 **Sansa: Most certainly. I will do so, with your permission.**

 **Tywin: Good girl. You may remove your bra, but you may not touch your stiff, pert little nipples.**

 **Sansa: I've removed the bra.**

 **Tywin: Have your nipples darkened, Sansa? Are they round and stiff and begging for attention?**

 **Sansa: Yes, Tywin.**

 **Tywin: Good. Now, we pick up where we left off. Do not shift your legs or move unless I tell you to, Sansa.**

 **Sansa: Yes, Tywin.**

 **Tywin: Now, I want you to trail your fingertips down to your navel and over to the side, tracing over your hip bone until you meet the top of the lace bottoms. Follow that lace on the soft, smooth skin of your lower abdomen underneath your navel, until you reach the other hipbone.**

 **Tywin: Very carefully, with your pointer finger, I want you to tease a trail lightly across the top of the lace, until you are centered directly over the little jewel hidden beneath the lace.**

 **Tywin: Are you wet, Sansa? Have you dampened your lovely lingerie?**

 **Sansa: I've soaked right through, Tywin.**

 **Tywin: Lightly stroke a path down from your clit to your core, teasing through the lace along the folds of your slit, pressing just enough that you are bucking and aching for more.**

 **Tywin: Move back and forth, following that path, never pressing harder than a light press of your finger.**

 **Tywin: How do you feel, Sansa?**

 **Sansa: Oh, Tywin! I am aching. My panties are soaked, and my finger is providing an unbearably small amount of friction. I- I need more, Tywin. Please.**

Sansa felt her phone start to ring in her right hand, and with a cry of alarm she realized it was none other than Tywin Lannister. She blushed crimson, and with shaking fingers slid open the screen and answered his call. "H-hello?" She said breathlessly, sounding for all the world like a woman in the middle of something quite scandalous. Which, of course, she _was_.

"Sansa, does your phone have a speaker?" His low, gravel voice shot straight between her thighs, and she shifted uncomfortably as she nodded, before realizing that of course he couldn't actually see her nod.

"Yes," she whispered quietly, still tracing that sinful trail over her dripping sex between her thighs.

"Put me on speaker, and set the phone down, Sansa."

She quickly obeyed, setting the phone down next to her ear on her pillow. "Ok, you're on speaker, Tywin," she whispered, flushing when she heard him make a sound that was quite close to a growl as she whispered his name.

"Good girl. Now, take your free hand, and gently begin to caress your nipples. Tease the first one by swirling slow circles around the tender underside of your breast, while you continue to use your other finger to trace lazily between your thighs."

Sansa was panting heavily now, and when finally brushed the stiff peak of her nipple, she bucked her hips and moaned, thrusting her chest into her hand.

"Now, you are deliciously wet and aching, aren't you, dear girl?"

"Yesss," she hissed on a whine, fighting for more friction as she tried desperately to obey his orders.

"You will be a good girl and let me hear your ever cry and moan, won't you, Sansa?"

"Yes, Tywin," she panted, still tracing down below, and working her hand across to toy with her other nipple that had been left alone and aching.

"Are you pretending it is my hands touching and teasing you, Sansa?"

"Oh, yes, Tywin," she moaned, arching her back and tossing her head as she realized that in fact, ever since she'd begun she was picturing the old lion caressing her skin.

He growled once more, and it led to a fresh wave of moisture pooling between her thighs. "Please, Tywin," she begged with a whine, shivering at the dark chuckle that rippled from the phone.

"You may add a second finger, Sansa, and you may begin to circle with pressure on your clit through your panties. Are you dripping wet, Sansa?"

She was panting heavily now, her circles getting faster and faster as she shut her eyes and pictured Tywin whispering into her ear, his warm body pressing hers into the matters. "I am. I am so, _so_ wet, Tywin."

"Are your legs shaking, Sansa? Are you going to beg me prettily for your release?"

"Oh yes, oh _please_ , Tywin. My legs are shaking, and – ahhhh – I feel so _good_. Please, Tywin. Please – ohhh – I – "

"Slide your hand into your panties Sansa, and slide your other hand down so that one is circling your clit, while you use two fingers to tease your core before thrusting inside. Do you feel yourself clenching down on your fingers, Sansa? Are you thinking of my fingers thrusting deep inside you? Are you thinking of my tongue licking your clit, flicking and sucking as I bring you to your peak?"

"Oh, yesssss, Tywin. Oh, please. I'm so close. _Please!_ "

"Come for me, Sansa. Come for me, all over your fingers like the naughty girl you are."

With a loud moan that peaked into his name, Sansa came, liquid gushing out to coat her thighs as her legs shook and her entire body rocked and tightened luxuriously, before relaxing into a series of shivers and shakes, pleasure like none she'd ever know racing through to soothe even her fingertips and her toes.

Sighing, she collapsed back into her pillows, before flushing with alarm as she realized she was still on the phone. "Tywin?" She said quietly, noting that he was deathly silent and had been for quite some time.

"Would you like to text me tomorrow evening, Sansa? Say, around ten?"

Biting back a smile, Sansa nodded her head, before breathlessly replying. "Ten would be perfect, Tywin. I am very much looking forward to it."

"As am I," he nearly growled into the phone. "Please wear the green and black lingerie, so that we may test that thoroughly as well."


	2. Chapter 2

**Since I received such a warm response on this one-shot, I've decided to open it up and add chapters every once in awhile. :) Enjoy!**

The morning brought a wave of guilt and shame so strong Sansa thought she might faint. What in the seven hells had she been thinking?! She had _sexted_ with _Tywin Lannister_. She had had _phone sex_ with _Joffrey's grandfather_.

And now she was _wet_ at the thought of doing it again tonight.

Scolding herself for being such a stupid, stupid girl, she flopped out of bed and made her way to the shower, hoping she'd be able to put this out of her mind as she sat through summer classes today.

Several hours later, in the middle of an economics seminar, she received a text that made her stomach flip all over again, while her pulse raced in excitement.

 **Tywin: Good morning, Sansa. Sleep well?**

She bit back a smile, shot a quick glance to be sure her professor wasn't watching (he wasn't, Mr. Selmy was still waxing on and on about the economic collapse in 2008), she typed out a reply.

 **Sansa: Good morning, Tywin. Yes, in fact I woke up quite well rested, thank you for asking. And yourself?**

 **Tywin: No, as a matter of fact, I did not.**

 **Sansa: I'm sorry to hear that. If you'd like to share, I'm all "ears".** **J**

 **Tywin: I was haunted by thoughts of smooth pale skin shimmering in crimson and gold lace, as it happens.**

Sansa flushed crimson, herself, and shifted uncomfortably in her seat when she began to feel the familiar ache pulse between her thighs. Swallowing thickly, and feeling like she was completely in over her head here, she tried to think of something flirty and sexy to send in reply. Another vibration from an incoming text interrupted.

 **Margaery: Hello, earth to Sansa? Why are you blushing about the housing collapse?**

She flicked her eyes over to where Margaery sat across the lecture hall with her eyebrows raised and a smirk on her lips. Sighing, she bit back a small grin and texted her back.

 **Sansa: If you must know, I'm texting someone ;)**

 **Margaery: Details! SPILL. Joffrey? Someone new? You can do better than that spoiled brat and you know it (unless it is Joffrey and then yay you go girl!).**

 **Margaery: WHY HAVE YOU NOT RESPONDED IT'S BEEN 30 SECONDS.**

 **Margaery: WHY ARE YOU BLUSHING AND SHAKING YOUR HEAD NO TEXT ME BACK THIS INSTANT YOUNG LADY.**

 **Margaery: WHY IS TEXTING IN ALL CAPS SO MUCH FUN?**

 **Sansa: STOP YELLING AT ME I CAN'T TELL YOU WHO BUT I NEED HELP.**

 **Margaery: YOU KNOW I'VE GOT YOUR BACK GIRL. I WILL WEEDLE IT OUT OF YOU EVENTUALLY BUT FOR NOW I'LL SETTLE FOR HELPING. WHAT'CHA NEED GIRLFRIEND?**

 **Margaery: I'm going to stop yelling now by the way because I think Mr. Selmy caught me giggling :D**

 **Sansa: OK… So… I'm texting this guy and I need help being flirty and sexy without being slutty.**

 **Margaery: OMG YOU ARE SEXTING?! AHHHHHH!**

 **Margaery: OK, I'm composed now. What did he say that you're stuck on?**

 **Sansa: He basically said that he couldn't sleep because he was thinking about me in lingerie and OMG what do I say?!**

 **Margaery: Well, what do you want to say?**

 **Margaery: Also, HOT.**

 **Sansa: I want to say something that is provocative but classy, ya know? He's very… sophisticated. And I want to sound like a lady and not a slut but I also want it to be flirty. OMG I think I took too long bc he just texted again!**

 **Margaery: AND?!**

Sansa quickly flipped over to the thread with Tywin.

 **Tywin: Should I expect your text later this evening?**

She flipped back over to the thread with Margaery.

 **Sansa: OK I might have left out the fact that we sexted last night and it was so amazing and we made plans last night to sext again and now he's asking if I'm going to text him like I said OMG.**

 **Margaery: Say this. And don't gape like a fish you'll give us away. I think Mr. Selmy is on to us because apparently it's suspicious when you giggle about subprime mortgage lending? :D**

 **Margaery: Yes. Is there anything I could do tonight that would help you sleep better? ;)**

 **Sansa: I CAN'T SAY THAT.**

 **Sansa: I'm sending it now.**

 **Sansa: Yes. Is there anything I could do tonight that would help you sleep better? ;)**

 **Margaery: Say it to your mystery lover you idiot not me. But I'd accept a crotch shot if you're offering :D hahahhahaha**

 **Sansa: I will kill you OMG.**

Double-checking this time to be sure she was on Tywin's thread, she sent the text.

 **Sansa: Yes. Is there anything I could do tonight that would help you sleep better? ;)**

 **Tywin: Yes. When you get home for the night, you will strip down and put on the green and black lingerie, and nothing else. Then you will re-read our texts from the previous evening, but you may not touch yourself or do anything to bring yourself relief until I tell you to later.**

An incoming text from Margaery had her flipping back to that thread.

 **Margaery: WHY ARE YOU BLUSHING LIKE THAT?! WHAT DID HE SAY?!**

 **Sansa: I seriously can't even repeat it but I want to go home and crawl into bed and also simultaneously hope a hole opens up and swallows me whole.**

 **Margaery: Tell me this instant or I will not take you out for lunch and give you a crash course in sexting.**

 **Margaery: JK I will but tell me NOW woman.**

 **Sansa: He said something along the lines of telling me to undress when I get home and re-read our conversation.**

 **Margaery: OMG he's like giving you the green light to masturbate. Who is this sexual god and where can I find one?!**

 **Sansa: Not exactly …**

 **Margaery: ? Explain immediately.**

 **Sansa: Ugh ok here's what he said**

 **Sansa: "Yes. When you get home for the night, you will strip down and put on the green and black lingerie, and nothing else. Then you will re-read our texts from the previous evening, but you may not touch yourself or do anything to bring yourself relief until I tell you to later."**

 **Margaery: I repeat. SEXUAL GOD. FIND ME ONE NOW.**

 **Margaery: Say this. Do not edit it copy and paste. NO, you may not edit it. SEND IT NOW.**

 **Margaery: But if I were to say, slip my hand down the front of my jeans right now in this lecture hall, teasing my fingers into my panties, that would be allowed?**

 **Margaery: SEND IT NO IFS ANDS OR BUTS.**

With a blush so strong she was quite certain her cheeks were literally on fire, Sansa copied over and sent the text.

 **Sansa: But if I were to say, slip my hand down the front of my jeans right now in this lecture hall, teasing my fingers into my panties, that would be allowed?**

 **Tywin: You would like that wouldn't you, naughty girl. You'd lightly press into the circle of wetness dampening your panties, trying to bite back a moan while your breathing slowed, tracing and teasing like I taught you last night.**

 **Tywin: Then, as you shifted in your seat and tried desperately not to draw attention to yourself you'd slip one finger under the lace and through your folds, finding your clit and stroking it while you imagined my tongue.**

 **Tywin: You'd shudder and quake as you came in your seat thinking of me and panting my name, forgetting for the moment that you were in the middle of your class. And when you looked up and saw everyone watching you'd start to drip all over again, wouldn't you, dirty girl?**

"OH MY GOD YOU'RE SEXTING T-" Sansa whipped around, clutching her phone and clamping her hand down over Margaery's mouth. When had class let out?!

Scooping her bag over her shoulder Sansa dragged Margaery out into the hall and finally released her mouth. "TYWIN LANNISTER?!" She whispered, voice so high and tight she nearly squealed.

Sansa was quite certain you could see her red cheeks from space at this point. "Yes," she whispered quickly, looking around to make sure no one was looking. "Look, it all started yesterday when I accidentally sent him pictures of the bathing suits I was trying on rather than you. We started chatting and then things got out of hand last night and now I am pretty sure I am going to die of frustration because did you read what he just sent me?!"

Margaery was grinning like a cat that got the cream as she snatched Sansa's phone and finished reading. Her smile grew wider and wider until her eyes popped open and her mouth dropped into an "Oh". Sansa saw as she started typing, and as she squealed and reached to take her phone back Margaery took off at a run out the door before spinning around triumphantly, having hit send.

 **Sansa: I'd soak right through my thong and my jeans, and I wouldn't be able to take my finger off my clit because the thought of people watching knowing I was getting off thinking of you would just be too much. I wouldn't stop, I'd circle and circle and circle my clit, not bothering to bite back the moans, until I shuddered and screamed your name as I came.**

Sansa's jaw was on the floor when she read what Margaery wrote. "Margaery Tyrell. I cannot believe- how could you- UGH!" The vibrating phone indicating an incoming message had both girls giggling as they tucked their heads together and read his response.

 **Tywin: I just had to mute my phone so that the Braavosi delegation didn't hear my growl.**

 **Tywin: I'm going to punish you later, naughty girl.**

Without even hesitating, Sansa typed out and sent a response, as Margaery read over her shoulder and her on with delight.

 **Sansa: Will you spank me? Have I been bad?**

 **Tywin: If I had my way I'd bend you over my desk, spank your bouncy arse until it was bright pink and you were moaning my name and your juices were dripping down your thighs as you squirmed and squirmed and begged me to fuck you until you screamed.**

 **Tywin: I need to go. Remember, no touching yourself until I tell you to, dirty girl.**

 **Sansa: Enjoy the rest of your day ;)**

The girls strolled out of the courtyard and down the street towards their favorite café arm in arm, giggling as Margaery coached Sansa until she was sure she would be able to keep up with Tywin later that night.

By eight o'clock, Sansa was dressed in only the green and black lace bra and panty set, around flushed and starting to ache uncomfortably in anticipation. Margaery had helped her artfully curl and drape her hair in a messy array of "sexy bedhead", as Margaery called it, which was really a way of saying they spent two hours curling her hair only to brush the curls out until they were more waves. She'd done her makeup, given her tips on how get the best angles with the camera on her phone, and then left her around seven.

Sansa sighed and wriggled her legs, hoping for some friction. How was she supposed to make it another two hours?! Turning in front of the mirror, Margaery's parting words of wisdom echoed in her mind, and she was struck with a truly _naughty_ idea. _Keep him guessing. It's OK to submit now and again, but if you want to keep him hooked, keep it interesting._ She'd winked and flounced out the door, laughter bubbling at the now permanent bright red circles blooming on Sansa's cheeks.

Her facial cheeks. She had yet to experience a spanking quite like Tywin described and the thought of blushing cheeks was making her wonder if the smacks would be light, making her flesh bounce, or perhaps harder making it sting?

That was it. She couldn't wait any longer for sure.

Testing out a few angles and playing with the lighting, she finally snapped the perfect shot. She held the phone above her and to the left, dipping her head down so that the shot looked down and caught the side of her cheek just right. The view was from over her shoulder, and you could just see the wavy curls framing her cheek and neck while the tops of her breasts and the hint of black lace cupping them were visible in the frame.

It was incredibly erotic, while stile tasteful, and absolutely perfect. She hit send immediately, not caring that it was two hours early, then typed out a message.

 **Sansa: Just a little taste to whet your appetite.**

Margaery had encouraged any and all references to eating her out, as coy or direct as she pleased.

Not a minute went by before her phone was lighting up with a response.

 **Tywin: Mmm. I'm envious of the lace.**

 **Sansa: Oh really? Would you stand behind me, wrapping your arms around me, using your hands to hold up my breasts?**

 **Tywin: Yes, and I'd trail kisses over the soft curve of your shoulder, up to your long neck before nipping the shell of your ear.**

 **Sansa: I'd lean back into you, pressing myself into your chest as I arched my back to push my breasts further into your hands.**

 **Tywin: I'd cup them gently, teasingly almost, ghosting my thumbs over the tips of your pert nipples, until you were grinding your ass into my erection as I thrust it against you.**

 **Sansa: I'd moan, tilting my head back against your shoulder hoping you'd kiss and lick my neck, while begging you nicely to touch me more.**

 **Tywin: I'd kiss and lick every inch of skin all over your neck while I used my thumbs and forefingers to rub both of your nipples until you were aching, arcing and panting my name. As you started to whine and grind desperately against me I'd roll your nipples tighter, pinching and sending waves of desire straight to your aching core.**

 **Sansa: I'd gasp your name, then slide my hands up over the smooth skin of my abdomen, sending chills in my wake before trailing my fingertips over the backs of your hands and up your arms.**

 **Tywin: Are you touching yourself, Sansa?**

 **Sansa: No, Tywin, but I'm so wet the lace is giving me delicious friction whenever I shift my thighs. I'm pretending it's you, teasing along the edge with your fingers.**

 **Tywin: Lay down on your bed and send me a picture.**

Biting her lip and smiling wide, Sansa lay down and arranged herself so that she was flat on her back, hips turned slightly to the side with her knees bent. She held the camera up so that it looked down her stomach and took in the triangle of lace covering her mound and the pale flesh of her thighs, making her legs look like they went on for days. Thank god Margaery had embarrassingly made her practice these poses, she never would have thought of it herself!

Just as she went to snap the picture, she decided to add her hand, and placed it right below her navel, slipping her middle and ring finger just under the edge of the lace so it was resting between her fingers. She took the shot, used a filter to soften the edges, and then sent it back to Tywin.

 **Tywin: Good girl. It's my hand instead of yours, and I'm fingering the fold of lace. I'm sitting behind you, and your sprawled between my legs and panting, begging me to slip my fingers down inside to play with your clit.**

 **Sansa: Oh, Tywin. Please let me touch myself.**

 **Tywin: OK, pretty girl. Slip those fingers into your panties and make the shape of a V. I want you to slide the V into the fold, around your clit, up and down, teasing yourself but not quite touching that little pearl of pleasure.**

 **Sansa: It's so wet, and I'm squirming my legs and arching my back desperate for more.**

 **Tywin: Beg me for more Sansa. Pant my name on those pretty red lips.**

 **Sansa: I'm panting, still doing the V and stroking myself, but I wish it were your fingers Tywin. I wish you were behind me instead of my pillows. I want to feel you, feel you all around me, feel you hard for me.**

 **Tywin: Touch your clit Sansa. Circle yourself and scream my name.**

Sansa began to circle in earnest, panting louder and louder, writhing her hips and twisting her thighs until she was coming into her panties, her back arched, her nipples pointing as she threw her head back and moaned Tywin's name with abandon.

Several minutes later, she felt steady enough to lift her phone and type out a response.

 **Sansa: I came all over my panties and fingers, moaning your name and wishing you were here.**

 **Tywin: Maybe one day, Sansa. Now get some rest, beautiful girl. I expect to try out the third outfit tomorrow night.**

 **Sansa: Goodnight, Tywin** **J**

 **Tywin: Goodnight, Sansa.**


	3. Chapter 3

She's decided it's a sweet kind of torture to know the deliciousness she has coming her way in just a few hours. She's in her last class for the day, wound up tighter than a spring, coiled and desperately waiting to be released, so she can find _her_ release later on to thoughts of Tywin Lannister's fingers and lips and tongue.

He's so old, old enough not only to be her dad, but her _dad's_ dad, and she has found she could give less than two figs for that fact, other than to mourn the fact that he won't be around to do this with her forever. After last night though, she's decided that she'll take what she can get, and what she wants is so much more than what he's given her so far.

She wants to feel him, running his hands over her soft skin. Are they smooth, unblemished as though he hasn't worked a physical day in his life? Are they calloused, thick and rough enough to cause shivers to rise in their wake? Or are they somewhere in between, alluding to some little secret activity that has roughened his hands over time?

She has no idea, and she desperately needs to find out.

What of his cock? Is it elegant and refined, a smooth thick rod of him extending from a juncture of golden curls between his thighs? Or is it darker, with a thick angry vein running up the side all the way to pulse near the tip? Is he circumcised? Have his curls gone gray or does the gold still glitter and shine, the way the tip of his cock will with a thick drop of pre-cum spilling out the top?

She needs to know these things, needs to touch and feel and taste, and she shifts uncomfortably when she realizes in less than a handful of days she has gone from prim and prude Sansa Stark to wanton and aching and slick between her thighs in the middle of a class for Tywin Lannister.

She's fantasized about him all day. About all the ways she wants him to take her in her tiny dorm room, in his chic apartment, maybe in the back or even the front of the slick BMW he always drives. So it is with profound excitement followed by crushing disappointment she learns that he stopped by her dorm while she was in class to leave her with a gift and a note.

"What do you mean?"

"I said, your grandfather stopped by," Jeyne says from the common room, nodding towards Sansa's door. "He said he wanted to leave you something, so I pointed him towards your room. Now, I've gotta run, I'll be gone all weekend. Have a good one!"

Sansa nods and wishes her a happy weekend distractedly. Both of her grandfathers have been dead for years, so that could only mean one thing. It had to be Tywin.

She flings open the door and rushes around her room, thanking the gods she'd picked up only this morning so it wasn't a complete wreck. Her cheeks flush when she realizes she'd left today's lingerie hanging casually from the doorknob to her closet, and she grins wickedly knowing that he most certainly saw them. Finally, her eyes land on a folded piece of paper and a little box on her pillow.

 _Naughty Girl,_

 _Leaving your delicates out for the world to see?_ **I** _am the only one who should have access to those. Unless you'd like for someone to watch? An interesting thought, one we may explore at a later time._

 _I regret to inform you I am leaving immediately for a business trip to Braavos, and will not return for a month. I will not have access to my personal device at this time, so I thought I'd grant you leave to use this gift as you see fit in my absence._

 _When I come home, I expect a documented account of how you spent your time._

 _T.L._

The amount of disappointment she feels crushing her chest should truly be alarming, as she's literally only engaged in this affair twice, yet she tears into the wrapping like a wild animal desperate for scraps.

Her jaw drops when she flips the top of the box open.

It is a silver bullet vibrator.

Her cheeks are practically glowing as she stares at the thing as if it walked right out of the box and started talking to her with Tywin Lannister's rumbling baritone.

He gave her a vibrator since he'll be gone for a month.

She is in way over her head.

For the first two day she just leaves it in the drawer of her nightstand, far too terrified to even open the box back up. On the third day, she has the courage to flip the switch and turn it on, though the vibration startles her so much she quickly shuts it back off and shoves it back where it belongs, hidden along with her illicit affair where the light of day can't touch it.

By the end of the first week, her memories and re-reads of their texts are not enough, and she falls asleep aching and flushed and incredibly frustrated.

By the end of the second week, she swallows back her pride, turns the thing on, and uses it to stroke through her underwear in those teasing strokes Tywin taught her. She comes in 30 seconds flat, shaking and screaming Tywin's name while marveling at the pleasures a tiny little vibrating stick can give her.

It is on the Monday of the third week when she gets an email from none other than Robert Baratheon, asking if she'd be interested in applying for an internship in the office. Apparently, Tywin's secretary quit, and though they need to hold formal interviews, it would be an excellent opportunity for a student to get in and get some face time with the head of the company. Without a second thought, she sends him an email with her resume attached, a wicked little grin splitting her face open wide.

He holds the interview at the end of that week in Tywin's office, so that she can see the environment and get a feel for the man Robert thinks is a stranger to her.

She knows him all too well, and not nearly enough, all at the same time.

She passes the interview with Robert with flying colors, and he says that Tywin wants to interview the top two candidates himself once he returns from a trip to Braavos. Also, the selected candidate may need to travel with him on occasion. Did she mind?

Mind? She was dripping into her skirt at the thought.

Sansa agrees and schedules the interview with Robert, but as she's waiting for him to confirm while she sits in Tywin's office, he is called out by Renly for a quick conference in the meeting room down the hall, leaving her to her own devices for approximately 20 minutes, he promises.

She only needed 10.

Quick as a flash, she gently pushes the door shut and secures the lock. She can always claim that it locked automatically when she shut it if Robert is early- that would be easier than owning up to what she was actually doing. She plays with the lighting, adjusting and dimming and then pulling the curtains, until she's got it just right.

Sansa slips out of her suit jacket and unbuttons her striped blouse, letting it hang open wide so you can see the black and white lace bustier she has on underneath. She keeps her sky high heels on as she slips her skirt past her knees and down to the floor, and piles her hair up in a messy bun that has wisps of curls falling every which way.

He's going to die.

She reclines and twists and turns and snaps as many photos as she dares, before she quickly buttons back up, pulling her hair back down and slipping back on her skirt. She calls it a flash of brilliance later, when she thinks to slip her panties down over her heels and folds them up, placing the little gift of black and white lace safely in his right desk drawer. He can explain if someone finds them. No one will suspect her.

She's sitting just as he left her, door open wide, a serene smile on her face, when Robert comes back in 20 minutes after he said he would to finish up their appointment. He sits behind the desk she just sprawled all over half naked, and she can't quite hide her catlike smile.

 **Tywin: Were you a good girl while I was gone, Sansa?**

She flips through the photos she's taken, of her posed all over his desk, of her thong in his drawer, of her playing with the vibrator, and decides she will give him a chronological tour of her adventures in sin while he was away.

She starts with one of the vibrator, nestled between the trimmed curls on her mound, unable to help that her breathing starts to slow and get heavier in her chest.

 **Tywin: I'm glad you found my gift to your liking.**

She smiles, flipping through and then sending him another picture, this one she snapped right after she came screaming his name, and her eyes are still heavy and her cheeks are flushed and she's biting her lip and looking brilliantly sexy, if she dares to say so herself.

 **Sansa: Yes, I found it very much to my liking**.

She can practically hear him growl, that low rumble that drifted through her phone once before and made her shatter into a million pieces of pleasure.

 **Tywin:** **Perhaps we can discuss it later? I want to call you and hear you scream for me as you come all over the gift I gave you.**

 **Sansa: Why can't we talk now?**

 **Tywin: Patience, naughty girl. I'm in my office catching up on emails.**

Knowing she'll never get a more perfect opportunity if she prays to the gods for years and years, she quickly sends two pictures. The first is coy, she'd leveraged her phone against his stapler and set the timer, and then turned away so that all you could see was her curls tumbling out of her bun and down her shoulders, across the back of her blouse, two handfuls of her ass cushioning the bottom of her shirt, with a hint of her lace thong just peaking through. She's sitting on his desk, but she's not sure if he will realize it yet.

The second picture she sends is far more clear, with his nameplate posed to boot on top of her right shoulder. She's laying on her back, her blouse flowing around her bustier, her back arched, her eyes closed with her head turned and her cheeks flushed.

It takes no more than a minute before he responds.

 **Tywin: I've moved your interview to the end of the day tomorrow. When you come in, wear the exact same outfit. I'm going to lay you over my desk and eat you for dinner.**

Sansa smiles, and then smiles wider when she realizes he hasn't found the thong yet.

 **Sansa: I can't. I seem to have lost part of my ensemble somewhere in your office.**

Ten minutes later, she gets a picture, the first one he's sent her. Her thong looks incredibly tiny, dangling off the tips of his long fingers, and he'd used a black and white filter so it is so incredibly sexy and erotic she wonders that she hasn't come from that alone.

 **Tywin:** **I suppose you'll have to go without, then. You may not add any other items.**

She grins so wide it hurts as she slips her hand down to circle her clit beneath her jersey shorts.

Tomorrow can't come soon enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Margaery: I am sexually aroused by Professor Bolton describing medieval torture tactics and all I can think about is how envious I am of you and S.G. XD**

They are in the middle of their morning class on the History of Westeros with Professor Bolton, and Sansa can't help thank the gods when Margaery's text cuts into her musings. She's been wondering since she woke up this morning why on earth she'd decided to interview for this stupid job in the first place, because now she is going to actually _see_ him, and somehow that makes it all the more real.

 **Margaery: You know, if I pretend he's talking about stripping my clothes rather than stripping my skin, I could really get into this lecture. Or get off to it ;)**

 **Sansa: You are ridiculous. Enough of your super creepy fetishes, I am freaking the hells out over here because I am GOING TO HIS OFFICE TONIGHT AND HE TOLD ME NOT TO WEAR PANTIES.**

 **Sansa: Also… S.G.?**

 **Margaery: Sex God. He needs a code name girlfriend, what if Professor Bolton leans over my shoulder to whisper sweet nothings and sees that I'm talking about Tywin Lannister? Actually, maybe that would help my chances?**

 **Sansa: I'm going to ignore that and pray that the images leave my brain before I need to leave later this afternoon. Also, do you live in a magical world where mean lounge naked on clouds and ride unicorns and throw rose petals at your feet waiting for your attention? Professor Bolton is MARRIED.**

 **Margaery: DID YOU SAY HE TOLD YOU NOT TO WEAR PANTIES?!**

 **Sansa: YES. GET YOUR HEAD OFF OF PROFESSOR BOLTON AND BRING IT BACK TO EARTH QUEEN OF ROSES AND RAINBOWS, I NEED YOUR HELP! WHAT DO I DO?!**

 **Margaery: I'd like to get off Professor Bolton any day of the week.**

 **Margaery: But in all serious, I am going to combust from the hotness. He told you to come to his office tonight wearing no panties. Like. Seriously.**

 **Margaery: WHYYYY DID THE GODS CURSE ME?! WHERE IS MY S.G.?! WAHHHHHHH. I'M SO MUCH PRETTIER THAN WALDA BOLTONNNNNNN.**

 **Sansa: MARGAERY**

 **Margaery: Right. We're talking about you. MARSHA MARSHA MARSHA. OK, what's the problem, again? Also, do you think Professor Flay Me Now would take the hint if I showed up at his office in nothing but lingerie and a trench coat?!**

 **Sansa: Tywin says that women with class don't need enhancements to shine, Margaery, and I think that qualifies as a ridiculous enhancement.**

 **Sansa: And the problem is that if I go to this interview then he will BE there. LIKE IN PERSON. And then he won't just be my secret phone sex god, he will be REAL. What if it's super awkward and uncomfortable and I just want to die?!**

 **Margaery: Then you leave. You're the prize! You're the hot young thing looking to learn the art of loOove. You need to own it and work it, sister, and you should remember that he should be the one who's terrified. YOU have the power, and don't let him make you think otherwise (unless you're playing a kinky game in which case GO FOR IT and TAKE NOTES TO FILL ME IN LATER).**

 **Margaery: Also, if I recall correctly, the way you captured Tywin's attention in the first place was by sending nearly-nudes from a dressing room. So I'm going to have to label S.G. as a gods damned hypocrite.**

 **Sansa: REALLY FUNNY. Quit giggling at yourself. P.B. is staring at you with a very weird look on his face and I'm not sure it's a good thing that he thinks you're laughing while he discusses the proper protocol for removing the skin without tearing.**

 **Sansa: Also, why the hell is he still talking about flaying twenty minutes after he first mentioned it!? You should not go to his office, this is super weird.**

 **Margaery: EEEEEK I think I've got a shot with him! I can play up the creep, that doesn't bother me one bit, darling.**

 **Sansa: It's like a really creepy vampire romance novel. Flaying the Queen of Roses.**

 **Margaery: Oh, and your romance novel is that much better, huh? Hear Sansa Stark Purr. That's what I'd call it.**

 **Sansa: MARGAERY!**

 **Margaery: And the tagline would be "She walked into his den a kitten; she emerged a lioness." Do you get it?! Because they call him the lion because of how ferocious a negotiator he is!? And he makes you purrrrr. Do you get it?! Hahahhahah**

 **Sansa: You are SOOOOO funny Margaery. HILARRRRRIOUS.**

 **Margaery: I know, I flay me XD**

"Ms. Stark, I am curious, what is so amusing about Valyrian steel daggers?"

Sansa blushed crimson, quickly slamming her phone down in her lap. "N-nothing, Professor Bolton, I'm so sorry."

He glared at her sharply for a moment, before returning to his lecture. Sansa purposefully avoided even a glance across the room in Margaery's direction for the rest of class.

Several hours later, in the same outfit she wore the last time she was here, _without panties,_ Sansa found herself seated once again in the familiar chair across from Tywin Lannister's massive desk. The man himself was running late from a previous meeting, and Robert had escorted her in and left her here to fidget and fret and wait for- oh, almost an hour, now?

An _hour_. With no underwear on.

She'd gotten up and walked towards the door about a hundred times, but something always kept pulling her back to her seat. She just had to _know_. How would this… thing… between them transfer to real life? What would it be like, looking at him face to face, rather than through a cell phone screen?

And where was her underwear?

The door shot open, and in her rush to stand up from her ungraceful lounge across the seat she tripped over the ridiculous heels and fell flat on her face in a heap on his floor.

Perhaps she was dead, or asleep, and this wasn't real life?

Robert's booming laughter said otherwise.

"Don't worry, Tywin, I promise she's more graceful than all that!" He'd shouted, clapping the Lannister Lion on the back as the two men watched her summon all the dignity she could muster to pull herself gracefully to her feet.

 _Thanks for the fucking help, gentlemen._

Raising her eyes, she got her first good look at the man she hadn't seen since she was ten years old. His hair was mostly golden, though it had receded with age, and the lines around his tanned face were somewhat severe. He was _tall_ , impressively so, and it was obvious by the way his tailored suit fit his figure that he was cut underneath and clearly took very good care of himself.

But his _eyes._ Oh, his eyes. She suddenly understood that the maidens of yore had it right when the swooned at the feet of a handsome knight or lord. They were glittering green, bright and young and flecked with flakes of gold that seemed to shimmer in the setting sun.

It was a miracle she hadn't fainted.

However, she realized with a jolt of alarm, she hadn't actually done _anything_ since they'd first entered the office, other than fall on her face, stand up, and _stare._

Thankfully, Robert hadn't seemed to notice, as he was practically reading her resume to Tywin, just now coming to the end. "Anyways, so what do you say, Tywin? Does she have the job?"

Both men were staring at her now, one with a jovial smile and fat bright cheeks, the other in blatant assessment, raising one eyebrow and pursing his lips in consideration. "Perhaps. The matter requires further assessment."

The eyes were trash compared to that voice.

Oh, that voice. She could wax on for hours upon hours about Tywin Lannister's silken, deliciously sinful, baritone voice. Telephones simply did not due him justice. It was warm and rich and caressing in all the right ways, and she nearly closed her eyes to savor the sound before she realized she was acting like an absolute lunatic and needed to say something.

SAY SOMETHING. THIS INSTANT SANSA.

"I can assess."

Oh, good. Verrrry professional. Verrrry cool and calm and collected.

"Excellent, I'll just mark a 'yes' down next to that question," he replied dryly, tone implying bored disdain while his eyes contracted and glittered with amusement.

"Very well then! I've got a .. uh .. _meeting_ , to attend to, so I'll just be going!" And with that, Robert was barreling down the hall, clearly very eager in his pursuit of whatever meeting it was that was so pressing he couldn't even give her a handshake goodbye.

Tywin stepped back to shut the door, the lock catching with a resounding _click_ , before he turned back and gestured with one elegant, very large hand. "Take a seat."

"Where?" She asked breathlessly, before flushing crimson at what a stupid, stupid question that was. Where?! Seriously. Where.

One graceful brow arched with amusement, though the rest of his expression remained impassive. "The chair." She sat, midway through exhaling a sigh of relief, before his next words had her hitching her breath in anticipation. "For now."

Positive that her cheeks now rivaled her hair for redness, she attempted to smile demurely as he took his seat in his black leather chair, across the thick slab of mahogany from her. He rested his elbow on the wing of the chair and raised his hand up to cradle his chin as he stared at her thoughtfully.

For one minute.

And another.

And another.

By now she was certain her cheeks rivaled the color of a beet, and still, his face was a stone mask while his eyes glittered green and gold. She huffed in annoyance, having had enough. A girl could only keep herself from squirming for so long here. "Should I be going, then?" Excellent, her voice came out almost like a normal person's.

A brow arched imperiously at that, and she shifted slightly as she felt an uncomfortable tingle begin between her thighs. It did not escape his notice. "Do you want to go?" His voice was like steel, music to her ears, and apparently music that set her core to clenching in response.

She licked her lips and raised her eyes to meet his stare head on. "No." Margaery would give three cheers for how firm she sounded then! She was only the slightest bit breathless, but surely that was understandable, given the circumstances.

He nodded, and continued to stare.

For another minute.

And another.

Gods damnit! What was this game?!

Margaery's advice floated back to her, a lesson that had served her well so far. _Do not give him all of the control_.

Swallowing down her nerves, she slowly uncrossed her legs, placed each high heel firmly on the floor, and rose up to stand, keeping her gaze locked on his for every last second. She walked two steps forward until she stood directly in front of the desk, her thighs bumping into the wooden ridge. She carefully placed her hands on the front of each of her hips, and then drug her fingertips, ever so slowly, up to take hold of the ends of her suit jacket. She undid the button, licking her lips, and then shook her arms free and let it fall to the floor behind her.

His eyes had flickered when she first shifted her legs, and he was watching her movements like a hawk now, every inch the predator Margaery had teased her about this morning. She decided that if he continued to look at her like that, she would very much enjoy being his prey.

She returned her hands to her hips once more, and repeated the slow fingertip climb up the sides of her white blouse, up and up until she was sweeping her hair up high on the back of her head into a loose bun of curls, letting them tumble as they may as she had for the pictures. Bringing her hands back down across her neck, she trailed her fingertips down to the front of her blouse, and slowly undid each of the little white pearl buttons, one by one by one, un-tucking it from her skirt, until it hung loose around her lithe frame and bustier.

His nostrils were flaring now, his eyes more black than green from his dilated pupils, and his chest was moving quite dramatically with his faster breathing. Feeling even more confident, she raised her chin, letting him stare and look his fill while she stood there, somewhat undressed in her fuck-me heels, eyes blazing as she watched him watch her.

It was the single hottest moment of her life when his other hand rose from the other arm of the chair, his long elegant fingers flicking once, firmly, in a come hither motion.

Her lips twitched into a coy smile as she slowly walked around the massive desk, trailing her fingertips over the wooden edging, until she came around to stand between his long legs, leaning back to rest her hips against the edge of his desk.

"Turn."

Shivering and starting to pant with excitement, she turned, standing tall and proud as she faced the door, her back to the man of her fantasies.

Slowly, she felt the zipper to her skirt slide down, until the fabric was free and it slipped off her hips unbidden to pool at her feet around her black leather heels.

There was something decidedly tantalizing, about standing exposed and wet and wanton in front of a man; dripping and needy with arousal when he had yet to even brush a fingertip across her skin.

She needed more.

"Turn."

He did, too.

She turned back around, not bothering to hide her blatant look of desire, her eyes hazy, flushed from the tops of her cheeks to the tips of her breasts.

"Sit as you sat in the picture."

A flicker of a smile lifted her lips, and she leaned back, hopping up onto the edge and arching her back to strike the pose she'd sent him. He rose, eyes following her every move with undisguised hunger, and slowly circled all the way around his desk to take in every angle, while she carefully held still.

This was the kind of thing most women only dreamed of, she was sure, and by gods she was going to soak up every last sinfully delicious second of it.

He finished his tortuous lap and returned to stand before her, fists tightly restrained at his side, tell tale bulge pressing against his trousers. Face still impassive, yet his eyes so bright she thought they could burn her skin.

"Now, the next one." Somehow, that voice of the gods had dropped another octave, and she felt the shiver roll all the way down to her aching and throbbing core in response. She swallowed, licked her lips, and then used every ounce of abdominal strength she'd squeezed out of that damned spin class Margaery liked to force her to do lay back and sprawl across his desk as elegantly and seductively as she possibly could.

He pursed his lips and shook his head. One arm ascended, and she watched the hand come closer, closer to the swell of her breasts, her breathing deepening in anticipation.

Until it passed her, to slide his nameplate across to the corner of her shoulder. She let a coy smile spread over her lips in response, and kept her eyes on his as he began another slow, achingly teasing circle all the way around his desk.

He finally returned after what felt like ages, and by now she could feel her wetness slickening the press of her thighs.

"Spread your legs."

She sucked in a breath and gasped, before she complied, inch by inch, until her legs were spread wide so his hips could fit between them.

She was flushed, and panting, and the heady scent of her arousal by now perfumed the room, and yet he _still_ had yet to actually lay a finger on her.

In the end, he never actually laid one single finger on her bare skin.

"You may not close your eyes, and you may not cover your mouth. I want to hear you scream."

It was all the warning she had, before she felt the slow, teasing swipe of his tongue against her folds.

Sansa bucked, arching fiercely with a cry of delight, and two strong hands taking hold of her fuck-me heels to hold her firmly in place. He licked her in teasing strokes from her core to the sides of her clit, always circling, never pressing in or caressing like she needed, and she was a writhing and moaning mess in a matter of seconds.

"Tywin, _please_ ," she begged, thighs shifting, body clenching and tightening and desperate for more, desperate for friction, desperate for release.

Suddenly, on his next pass instead of circling her clit, he pressed down on it, pulsing and flicking his tongue with abandon. He pressed and flicked and licked while she arched and bucked and moaned, singing out his name to the gods. Just as she was starting to sob, his lips closed down around her clit, and gave one delightful, firm _suck_.

She was lost. Careening down a highway of pleasure as she screamed his name and shook and came so forcefully she was sure they heard her all the way in Braavos, soaking his tongue and mouth as he lightly licked her through her orgasm, helping her wring her pleasure of every last drop.

As she came down from the high, he sat back into his leather desk chair. Hazily, she blinked her eyes, and sighed as she reluctantly pushed herself up to sit, crossing her legs primly on the edge of his desk, not caring one bit that she felt like goo and she had dripped all over his rich mahogany desk.

"I expect you to arrive no later than 9:00 a.m. each morning. You start Monday morning."

It was the most satisfying interview she had ever had.


	5. Chapter 5

**Margaery: EEEEEK! Are you excited about the pool party tonight!? Will S.G. be there?! Do you think Professor Bolton will be there? Oh god, your parents won't be there, will they? Are you going to have sex in front of Joffrey? ARE YOU GOING TO HAVE SEX?!**

 **Sansa: IT IS 6:30 A.M.**

 **Margaery: Beauty is pain, my friend. Now come downstairs, we're going for mani/pedis and massages. Our appointment is in fifteen minutes and it's across town so stop making us late.**

 **Sansa: You are not serious right now.**

 **Margaery: DO YOU HEAR THAT HONKING? SERIOUS AS A HEART ATTACK BABY.**

 **Margaery: What if sex with S.G. is so good you give him a heart attack?**

 **Margaery: Nahhhh. He looks like he works out. I think you're safe for a few more years.**

 **Margaery: Though you'll only be alive for a few more minutes if you make us miss our first spa appointments.**

 **Sansa: Margaery OMG**

 **Margaery: LESS TALKING MORE WALKING**

 **Sansa: I'm coming I'm coming geez**

 **Margaery: Don't add geez tonight, it is sooo old fashioned XD**

 **Sansa: I'm going to kill you.**

 **Margaery: Don't you mean FLAY me?! Muahhahah**

 **Sansa: OK. I am LITERALLY going to FLAY you. And then I am going to FLOMBAY you and feed you to the pigeons.**

 **Margaery: OK that was dark. What is it Professor Melisandre says? The night is dark and full of terrors? Apparently pre-dawn with Miss Tywin's Kitten is too** **L**

 **Sansa: LOL shut up. I'm on my way down the stairs.**

Two hours later they ere fully reclined, dressed in soft white terry bath robes with cucumbers of their eyes, white masks that Margaery said will make them shine like the goddesses they are painted on thick on their faces, with fresh polish drying on their dainty little feet.

"OH MY GOD. Tell me again how he actually ate you out on his desk?! I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm dyingggg!"

Sansa sighed, smiling wide as she tried to roll her eyes under her cucumber slices before accidentally sliding one into the white pasty goo on her temple. She adjusted the slices and can't help collapsing into a fit of giggles with Margaery.

"Margaery! Seriously it wasn't that big of a deal!" Of course it wasn't a big deal.

It was a freaking _enormous_ deal. It was the biggest deal of her entire _life_.

"Sure, right of course. Of COURSE it's not a big deal the first time a man goes down on you in your entire life. Of COURSE it's not a big deal when you have the best orgasm, the first one you've gotten from someone other than _yourself_ , I might add. Ugh, if we were back in old timey days I'm sure I'd be swooning right now."

"If we were back in old timey days you may actually have a shot with Professor Bolton," Sansa quipped, laughing when Margaery sighed dramatically and told her one more time about her plan to make their professor "come undone" as Margaery called it.

"I'm telling you, if he is at this thing tonight I am getting in his pants, I am that confident."

Sansa just rolled her eyes with another smile. "I suppose if anyone can do it its you, Margaery Tyrell. May the odds be ever in your favor." She smiled wide, quoting their favorite movie as her thoughts drift back to what Margaery had so bluntly pointed out.

It _was_ the first time a man had gone down on her, and it most certainly was the first time she'd had a real orgasm from fooling around with a man. She'd had sex before, once, a drunken night with the cute foreign guy she met at a party, Daario something. While _he_ most certainly seemed to be enjoying it, _she_ was fidgeting and wincing in pain, and in the end he'd rolled off of her, jacked off into the sheets of his dorm bed, and then passed out cold without a word.

It certainly left a lot to be desired when it came to sex.

"Is he a good kisser?"

Sansa flushed, dreading that question, thankful for the cream on her face so Margaery couldn't see. "Um, well-"

"I mean on your upper lips, not your lower," Margaery teased, and Sansa could just hear the smile she knew was all over Margaery's stupid face.

"Um, about that…"

"You _have_ kissed, right? Like, with both your mouth _and_ his?"

…

"You are telling me the only place that man has kissed on your body his your clit?! Are you freaking kidding me San?"

Sansa was pretty sure she was so red her cheeks died her facemask pink. She stayed silent, totally mortified with a sinking, squirming feeling in her belly, until Margaery busted out laughing, and reached over to grab her hand and squeeze. "You really went for broke there, didn't you?!"

Sansa snorted in response, joining in in the giggles, before asking Margaery what's really on her mind. "OK, so here's the thing. Like, in the moment, it didn't even occur to me that we didn't kiss or touch or anything before he was just… there."

"It sounds so fucking hot and erotic I want to die, you know that right?!"

Sansa giggled, shaking her head and squeezing her friend's hand. "It _was_. But now that it's two days later and I haven't heard a peep since I put my clothes back on and walked out on legs shakier than a newborn foal, I'm just not sure what to think. Do you think- I mean…"

The squeeze on her head calmed a few of the snakes wrestling in her belly, though her anxiety is still on the rise every minute they are closer to tonight. "San, look at it this way. Even if he _hated_ it, he still did it, right? It happened, and for you at least, it was the best fucking night of your life! So what if he doesn't call or text or do anything with you ever again? You got yours, girl, and you were happy about it, and you loved it, so don't let anxiety over him or anyone else taint something that is precious to you. Who gives a fuck if he liked it or he didn't, or if people would judge or they wouldn't, or if you kissed or you didn't! If you were comfortable and happy with what you did, that is all that matters girl."

Sansa was crying by the end, a blubbering mess, which made Margaery cry too, and when the spa attendants came back in they were a mess of facial masks and smudged toes and laughter mixed with the happy tears of friends that are closer than sisters.

She dressed in her brand spanking new blue bikini with a sheer black lace beach dress thrown on over that shows off her figure and her suit without leaving her walking around naked in a bikini all night.

When the horn blared and she skipped down to meet Margaery, she learns that in Seduce Professor Bolton world, subtleties have died, as Margaery is a nearly-naked knockout in a bombshell gold swimsuit with a push-up bra and ties on the sides of the bottoms, no cover or dress or clothing of any kind anywhere in sight.

"What?" Margaery says innocently, eyes twinkling with adrenaline while still managing to blink like a does.

Professor Bolton may not stand a chance with Margaery Tyrell after him, after all.

They pulled up to Robert Baratheon's mansion, the kind that has its own driveway with its own iron gate, and valet parking at the front steps so you don't need to walk up the white cobblestone drive from the car barn. Everything is cream and gold with splashes of red, pure wistful elegance; it is pure Cersei Baratheon in home décor form.

They walked through the opulence arm in arm, making their way past butlers and footmen and serving trays (though not skipping the proffered glasses of champagne), out the white French doors left open to allow in the breeze, and onto the patio that stretches on for days around the three swimming pools dotting the Baratheon's back yard.

If there's one thing they aren't known for, it's restraint.

She scanned the partygoers as they made their way to their hosts, and noted with sinking disappointment that Tywin doesn't seem to be among them.

Apparently, neither is Professor Bolton. "Maybe our smooth older gentlemen are arriving even more fashionably late?" The party is in full swing, and Margaery was sure to pick her up over an hour after it started, because god forbid you're the first ones to arrive at a party.

Sansa nodded in agreement, a tight smile on her face, as she unfortunately identified Joffrey, standing smug as a prize poodle next to his parents.

"Sansa! Margaery! Don't you two look just darling," the words from Cersei are cloyingly sweet, but there's a sharp edge to her smile that sets Sansa's nerves on edge.

"Mrs. Baratheon, thanks so much! I love the wrap dress, very flattering for your figure." Margaery schmoozed with the best of them, and the veiled barb at Cersei's aging body had Sansa biting back a laugh as she gave her two kisses, one on each cheek, and moved on down the line.

"Good Gods! That's not Sansa Stark and Margaery Tyrell, is it?!" Robert's booming echoed off the pavements as he tugged them both in for a decidedly _tight_ hug, one girl tucked under each arm. "Oh, to be twenty years younger, hey girls?!"

They giggled, rolling their eyes at each other over the broad expanse of Robert's chest. _And twenty pounds lighter_ , Margaery mouthed with a giggle.

"At least!" Sansa whispered, as Robert turned and nearly shoved them in Joffrey's direction.

"Here, boy! Two lovely peaches ripe for the picking. Do try not to fuck it up, would you?!"

As she looked critically at Joffrey now, she wondered what it was she actually _saw_ in him a few months ago that had her desperate for his affections. His lips were so thin and wormy, his blonde hair just so flat, his body so flimsy she thought the wind might knock him over. He just looked so… dull. And _boring_.

And _young_.

"Ladies, a pleasure, I'm sure."

Ugh, and just kind of _gross_.

"Joffrey," Margaery said coolly with a nod, before twining her arm through Sansa's and tugging her sharply to the left.

Straight into the chest of Tywin Lannister.

As her eyes raised up over his broad chest, noting his pressed gray slacks, black button up shirt, and black aviator sunglasses with gold rims, Sansa was fairly certain she might learn the true meaning of the word _swoon_ , after all.

Margaery nudged her, giving Tywin a wide smile when she noted he hadn't even glanced in her direction, before she sauntered off in the direction of the bar, ready to refill her glass of Champagne or trade it in for a fruity cocktail.

They stared at one another, her full pink lips parted in surprise, and she wondered why in the seven hells she hadn't worn her sunglasses so that she could at the very least hide her eyes.

"Grandfather, you're scaring her! Here, Sansa, allow me to rescue you from this old-"

"Sansa, would you care to see the gardens? They are lovely at sunset." She shivered from how positively delicious those words sounded sliding out of his mouth, and shut her jaw shut with a _click_.

Swallowing, she only nodded, reaching out to wrap her arm through his, leaving a stunned Joffrey gaping like a fish at their backs, growing redder and redder each step they took.

Margaery watched in the distance as they made their way down the back stairs, and she smiled wide as she turned and found her target.

Professor Bolton had arrived, and, as far as she was concerned, it was _he_ who looked ripe for the picking tonight.

Oh. My. God.

She was walking arm in arm with Tywin Lannister through secluded gardens at sunset.

Was this _real?!_

Oh. My. God.

She was walking arm in arm with Tywin Lannister through secluded gardens at sunset, and _hadn't said anything for like ten minutes!_ How embarrassing! OK, let's see, she could ask him about what he expected of her on Monday?

Work talk? Isn't that just about the sexiest thing in the world, she chided herself sarcastically. Hmmm, she could ask him about any films he'd seen recently?

Did Tywin Lannister watch films?

She scoffed at herself, shaking her head as they walked further through the maize of greenery. Of _course_ he watched films.

Actually, how would she know?!

She could-

"Your swimsuit is very becoming, Sansa," he purred, head dipped down so his lips nearly brushed the curls around her ear.

She blushed, peaking up at him over her shoulder with a shy smile. "Thank you, Tywin. I can't take all the credit, a friend helped me pick it out."

His lips twitched, though his head was once again facing forward, and his next words had her heart nearly slamming out of her chest. "Indeed?"

She felt a now-familiar tingle begin at the apex between her thighs, his voice somehow just dripping with the promise of all the pleasures he could bring her. How on _earth_ could a man's voice sound that delicious? It just wasn't fair!

"Oh, yes," she breathed, blushing bright when she realized how breathless and silly she sounded.

"And is that all he his, Sansa?"

She blinked, turning to look up at him with confusion when he abruptly brought them to a stop, turning so she was facing back towards the house. "Hmm? Is that all who is?"

His lips twitched again, and he suddenly seemed quite intent on something in the window on the top floor.

Wait. Was that a person?

"The gentleman who picked out your swim suit, Sansa. Is he only a friend?"

She swallowed thickly, starting to pant with anticipation, and her tongue poked out to wet her lips.

Tywin was stepping around to stand very close behind her now, his chin just above the top of her hair, his chest so close to her back she could feel the heat rolling off of him.

Hang on. Seriously, what was going on in that window?

"Sansa," he prompted, his rich voice now lit with a note of impatience.

"I-" she started breathlessly, before pausing to clear her throat. "Well, I don't know. You see, I know what I think of him, but I am very much clueless about how he views me."

His head was bent now, lips and breath grazing along the shell of her other ear. "And what if he told you that your sultry smile was the first thing he saw each morning, and the last thing he saw each night?"

She started to pant in earnest now, feeling his fingertips glide up along the bare skin of her arms, raising bumps in their wake. "The thought of how soft your skin and perfect your curves made him want to run his hands and lips and tongue all over every inch you'd let him."

She gasped in a breath, her eyes fluttering shut as she unknowingly leaned back into his chest, tipping her head back into his shoulder. "The memory of how sweet you tasted making him wake up in a sweat, hard and aching. Of how he used thoughts of how delicious you looked, sprawled like a gift he couldn't wait to unwrap, all over his desk, to bring himself to release."

A small whine sounded in the back of her throat when his fingers brushed the delicate skin of her neck, sweeping her hair to one side. "Of how he couldn't wait to make you come once more, screaming his name as you shatter into pieces. What would you say to that, Sansa?"

His lips brushing against the curve of her neck had her arching back into him, pressing her ass into the hardness pressing back, grinding as she started to moan. "I would say," she whispered, pausing for a breath as her head started to spin, "I would say that he is very much more than a friend."

A slow slide of his lips from behind her ear down to the curve of her shoulder had her shuddering in response, and his question just barely pierced the fog of desire settling over her. "Is that all you would say?"

She bit her lip, slightly shaking her head. "I want you, Tywin," she moaned, pushing her hips back into his.

The growl he purred into her ear shot straight down her spine to her clenching core.

She hitched in a breath as she felt his fingertips slide down from the tops of her shoulders, around to the front to lightly graze the outer sides of her breasts through her cover. His lips her trailing along her neck as his fingers played in feather light touches over her sides, tickling and teasing and making her damp and pant with need.

His hands traced circles over her belly, making the taut skin jump everywhere he touched, until he made his way down to the top of her bottoms, fingers grazing along the ridge of elastic raised in her cover. "Tywin," she whispered, not caring a bit about how pleading and desperate she sounded.

He chuckled, before he grazed his teeth along the shell of her ear, causing her gasp and moan in response. "Patience, sweet girl."

His fingertips slipped lower, tracing lightly over the front of her suit, before teasing along the tops of her thighs. He continued the lazy exploration, barely any friction reaching through her cover and the fabric of her suit, and she fought against shifting in impatience as she felt herself begin to soak right through.

"Do you want my fingers in your swimsuit, Sansa?" He purred in her ear, sending a fresh wave of heat down her spine.

"Yesss, Tywin," she breathed, arching to press back into his hardness, her head swimming with desire and need.

"Do you want me to slip them in through your folds, to trace and touch and tease before I circle your clit, and maybe push two inside?"

She whined in the back of her throat at that, pushing back against him once more as her head lolled further onto his shoulder. "Oh, Tywin."

His teeth nibbled lightly along the upper swell of her shoulder where it meets her neck as he growled his response, his fingertips still teasing and tracing below, getting closer and closer to the ache between her thighs. "Open your eyes, Sansa, and look up in the window."

"Hmmmm?"

He chuckled once more, lightly nipping her ear in response, stilling his fingers so they rested on top of her mound. "If you want me to do those things, then open your eyes and look up into the window."

Sansa hazily blinked open her eyes and looked up. What she saw had her gasping and jerking in shock.

Margaery was on her knees, the curve of her breast visible, her mouth greedily sucking Professor Bolton's cock.

His face was a mask of concentration, an expression of either pure pain or pure bliss, his jaw clenched tight while his hand fisted deeply into Margaery's tousled curls. Margaery's hand was down her bikini bottoms, and Sansa knew exactly what she was doing down there.

Oh, _gods._

She should not be watching this! How could they be so stupid as to do this in front of the window!

A fresh wave of wetness dripped into her bottoms.

How did she find this so incredibly _hot_?

Tywin chuckled as he slowly slid her cover up to bunch around her waist. "You may choose to watch or not, Sansa."

Her jaw dropped, her legs already starting to shake, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the look on Professor Bolton's face, the sight of Margaery's lips around his cock, her hand tucked in down below.

Tywin's fingers started to tease once more, and she bucked with a whine when he lightly traced over the wet spot slicking the fabric of her suit. "There's my naughty girl," he purred, bringing his hand up before tortuously sliding it down against her bare skin, fingers curling in under her bottoms to cup her mound. "It appears my naughty girl likes to watch."

She shivered, arching and whining and pressing herself into his fingers, as he slowly worked them in between her folds. "Are you watching him, Sansa? Do you see how he's jerking her head, forcing his cock into her eager little mouth?" She bucked as he slicked his fingers through her wetness, bringing it up to coat her clit.

"Do you see her, Sansa? Pleasuring herself with her hand as she sucks him, making herself come as he comes for her?" He started to circle her clit in earnest, adding a light tap with one finger while the others circled steadily, and then she felt a second hand sliding down her belly, and new what was next.

She sagged back into him fully, moaning with abandon as he pushed two fingers inside of her, while his other hand worked over her clit. "Do you think she feels as good as you do? With my hands down your swimsuit, making you come all over my fingers, while I kiss your neck and whisper in your ear?"

She cried out, bucking and arching as he circled faster and faster, his fingers pumping into her with a steady rhythm which she rode head first towards her pleasure. "Oh, _no_ **,** Ty- ah ah, Tywinnn."

His lips came around to tongue on the shell of her ear, before he traced it with his tongue. Suddenly the paces changed, and before she knew it he was circling in a different pattern, lightly tapping every few swipes, while he crooked his fingers deep inside her. "Come for me, Sansa," he growled into her ear, strong arms and thighs holding her up off the ground.

One last flick on her clit, one last curl of his fingers, and she was coming like a freight train, screaming his name as she watched Margaery lap up every last drop of Professor Bolton's come.

He caught her as she collapsed, held her steady and tight into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, his lips pressed into her ear. She could smell her arousal on his fingers, now out of her bottoms and holding her waist.

"So are we just friends, Sansa?" He purred into her ear.

She giggled, wrapping her arms over top his as her body continued to rest heavily into his warm hold. "No, Tywin," she whispered, cheeks flushed pink in pleasure, a silly lovesick smile on her face. "I believe we are a good deal more than friends."


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to all who are reading and commenting! Your thoughts really help me to update sooner, so I sincerely appreciate your enthusiasm and encouragement!**

By the time Sansa stumbles back out of the gardens the party is in full swing. She shoots Tywin a flirtatious smile over her shoulder, before trying and failing to walk gracefully along the stone terrace up to where Margaery is wagging her eyebrows and nodding in an incredibly exaggerated manner towards the door.

When Sansa makes it up the steps she sees two bottles of unopened champagne, one in each hand, that Margaery must have swiped from their host. "Care to take these babies home and put them to good use? I've got _so_ much to tell you!" She's squealing with excitement by the end, but Sansa's cheeks are brighter than the sun because all of a sudden it hits her that she watched her _best friend_ and her _teacher_ hooking up.

And she got off to it.

Oh gods.

Margaery is staring at her quizzically as she drags her out to where their car is waiting in the valet line, and she tries to look just about anywhere but directly at her when they slide into the cool leather seats and take off into the night, two big bottles of champagne propped up on her lap for safe keeping. "Can't loose our merchandise, darling, so you just buckle these babies in and take good care of them." Margaery's laughing, but it dies at the green look on Sansa's face, so the ride back to Sansa's is full of awkward half-looks and tense silences.

They file into her apartment one by one, and Sansa isn't sure whether she's furious or thankful that Jeyne isn't home to serve as a barrier.

Apparently, Margaery is thankful. She pops both corks, hands Sansa her own bubbling bottle, and takes a good long swig before swinging down to sit cross-legged on Sansa's bedspread. She pats the bed next to her, giving her a pointed look that makes Sansa just about want to die.

With a deliberately heavy swig from her own bottle, two gulps worth in fact, Sansa resignedly plops down across from Margaery, studiously examining the label of the bottle. Real Dornish champagne. They really did spare no expense in the Baratheon household, didn't they?

"OK woman. Spill." Margaery's all no nonsense, staring her down, and tears start to prick Sansa's eyes in shame. She opens her mouth once or twice but just can't quite get the words out, and takes another drag of her bottle.

Margaery, fed up, grabs her hand gently away from the neck of the bottle and tugs. "Seriously, San," she's gentler this time, her tone soothing and making Sansa seriously want to burst into tears. "What's the matter? Did he- did Tywin hurt you?"

At this Sansa does burst into tears, shaking her head no emphatically as Margaery firmly tugs her in for a tight hug, making Sansa cry all the harder with guilt and shame and embarrassment.

Margaery just rubs her back and pets her head, holding and rocking her on her bed, until Sansa drips snot ungracefully onto her pajama-clad shoulder, making her start to crack up into a fit of giggles. Soon they are both laughing, and as Sansa pulls back to blow her nose, she takes a deep breath, another big gulp of champagne, and then lets it all out in a rush.

"We were walking through the gardens and then we turned and then he started to touch me and then he pointed you and Professor Bolton out-"

"Roose," Margaery breaks in with a coy smile. "His name is Roose." She's grinning wide now, and Sansa only stares in confusion, because Margaery's looking so damn smug and not the least bit upset or panicked.

"I- wait… What?"

Margaery's smile at this point could blind the sun itself. "His name is Roose, and he tastes like salty cream, and I hope you saw us because we did it in front of the window you dolt, if someone hadn't seen it would have been _such_ a disappointment. For me, of course. To be honest, I'm not sure he even realized where we were, or if he did he certainly didn't seem to care."

Sansa's jaw is scraping the floor by now, and Margaery reaches out with two fingers to push it back up before she pats her cheek with a smile. "Did we ruin your moment or something? Was that the problem? Because I didn't mean for that to happen San, it was just so exciting and the thought of someone seeing was really getting me off you know?"

Sansa is so red she could guide a plane to land by her cheeks alone, and Margaery looks at her shrewdly for just a second before she's smiling so wide it has to hurt. "Oh, I see. It was quite the opposite, wasn't it you naughty little voyeur?"

"Margaery!" She squeaks, burying her face in her hands, as she hears Margaery cackle with glee.

"You watched us and you liked it!" The smugness and excitement in Margaery's tone has Sansa starting to laugh along with her unwillingly, and she shoots her a mock glare between her fingers.

"Oh my _gods_ this is so embarrassing!"

Margaery scoffs with a reassuring smile. "Have you heard of _porn_ , San? It is literally the most natural thing in the world. A little kinky, maybe, that you got off watching your best friend-" she breaks off when Sansa smacks her on the arm with another embarrassed fit of giggles.

"As I am the one who was _violated_ here," she says with a devious smile, "I demand FULL details!"

Sansa sighs, rolls her eyes, and fills her in.

They are both almost through with their bottles by the time they wrap up the play by play, and are giggling uncontrollably by the time they get to what Sansa has been dying to know since she first saw them. "So?! How'd you seduce Professor Flay and Slay?"

Margaery's eyes are bright and her cheeks are flushed and she's damn near shouting as she boisterously dives in to recount her tale. "WELL! I just sidled on up to him, pretty and innocent as you please…" She breaks off to shove Sansa half-off the bed when she snorts rather loudly at the _innocent_ comment.

"ANYWAYS! I whispered into his ear that I was sooooo nervous about our final, and I wanted to review proper techniques, so would he mind giving me some hands-on instructions?" She's waggling her eyebrows to Sansa's _oh Margaery, you didn't!_ and they collapse into a fit of drunken giggles before she continues. "So he stares at me, you know his dark, brooding thing? Like he's trying to eat your soul? And I just bat my lashes and shake my chest and sidle my little hips on towards the door to lead him inside up the stairs!"

"… And?!"

She pauses for dramatic affect. "Well, to be honest, he didn't follow me right away, so I actually thought I'd overplayed my hand, and I just waited by the window and looked out to see you and S.G. traipsing about the gardens."

"Ah! You were going to watch us?!"

Margaery's look is pure evil. "Turnabout is fair play little miss hypocrite," she says with a smile. "ANYWAYS! He comes up behind me so silently I jumped out of my skin when his fingertips trailed down my back, and I swear I almost died when he started to untie the strings on my bikini top. And, ya know, one thing led to another, and then we were putting on a show for our two favorite observers," she finishes casually, before cackling hysterically as Sansa smacks her arm and collapses into a heap of giggles.

"MY sex god is a good kisser, by the way. Just the right amount of tongue, where you literally curl your toes. And yourrrrrrs?"

Sansa carefully starts counting the ceiling tiles before Margaery huffs with amusement, before leaning over to flick off the light. "One day, you're going to kiss him, and it's going to be terrible and you're going to be so sad."

Sansa shrieks again, tackling her friend on the pillows, and they fall asleep holding hands staring up at the ceiling swapping stories of their S.G.'s and thoughts of all the things they want to do with them while they can.

The next morning is rougher than either of them has had since they first learned how to shotgun a beer at a college party, and it isn't until about five in the evening that either of them feels like even a shadow of themselves.

Margaery has gone home, Sansa is freshly showered and was able to force down some Chinese takeout, and now she's sitting in her closet looking up at the last-season suits and blouses and dresses Margaery donated to her for her internship.

How formal should she dress? Business casual? Business formal? Should she wear heels or flats? Muted colors, or bright and fresh? Stockings or knee highs if she wears a dress or a skirt? As the panic starts to build she flips through hanger after hanger, desperately hoping the clothing will speak to her and tell her which pieces should be worn in the morning.

A vibration from her nightstand saves her from a complete meltdown.

 **Tywin: Are you ready for tomorrow, Sansa?**

Thank the gods.

 **Sansa: HELP. Clothing emergency!**

 **Tywin: Options?**

Sansa snaps a pic of her closet and sends it along, not caring that it looks like a bomb from last year's sample racks exploded.

 **Tywin: A pity.**

 **Sansa: Pardon?**

 **Tywin: I was hoping it was other articles you were debating. Very well, we will start from the outside and work our way in. Choose three outfits and send them along.**

She does as she's told, and sends a pantsuit, a skirt suit, and a wrap dress.

 **Tywin: Which are you most confident wearing?**

 **Sansa: Either the skirt suit or the dress. The pantsuit isn't very flattering and makes me feel boyish.**

 **Tywin: You should always wear what you are most confident in, Sansa.**

 **Tywin: And I highly doubt that even in a suit of armor you'd look anything other than exquisite.**

 **Sansa:** **J**

 **Tywin: I hate to cut this short but there's something that requires my attention. I will see you in the morning. Don't be late.**

 **Sansa: Thank you, Tywin. Goodnight!**

 **Tywin: Sleep well, Sansa.**

She's midway through the afternoon of her first day, and has maybe spent a total of forty seconds in Tywin's presence. The morning was a flurry of training and briefings, lunch was an apple and a protein bar from the café down the street that she had to stop at to grab Tywin's coffee, and for the past two hours she has furiously typed up meeting minutes and notes into briefing memos for Tywin to read and respond to this evening. In the mornings, its her job to type up his responses and send them along to the appropriate recipients.

It seems like a huge waste of time in her opinion. If he takes the time to write his thoughts for her, wouldn't it make more sense for him to just write his own responses and send them along?

She's going to talk to him about it.

Maybe not on her first day.

A ping from her laptop has her searching her desk in confusion, until she sees a little chat box blinking on the screen.

 **T. Lan: Do you have a moment?**

 **S. Star: You are the boss. What can I do for you, sir?**

 **T. Lan: I can think of any number of things…**

This most certainly perks her up and has her full attention.

 **S. Star: Do they revolve around your desk, sir?**

 **T. Lan: Among other things.**

She waits for a moment, and when nothing else comes through she starts to pout with annoyance, until she sees the light blinking on her desk phone, indicating he's on the line with a call.

A Margaery-inspired idea pops in her head, and she gently lifts the receiver just to be sure.

 _Tywin, We need to talk through these numbers from our contact in Braavos. Can't you just spare me the next ten minutes?_

 _You have five._

She picks up her notepad and her blue felt tip pen, and sashays right on in, quietly shutting and locking the door behind her.

The glare he shoots her is deafening and nearly enough to make her steps falter. Oh dear.

But she presses on, and by the time she's rounding his desk his lips are pulled into a tiny smirk at the corner, while his eyes burn green and gold. She hops up to perch on the end of the desk, a teasing smile on her lips and a challenge in her eyes, and one long hand reaches out to tug at the ties of her black wrap dress.

The silk billows around her, framing her pale skin and her crimson and gold lace lingerie set, and now he is openly staring, his nostrils flaring and his breathing slower in his chest.

"Yes, I do believe you're correct. Please continue."

It's not what he says, it's how he says it. And how he says it makes her wet and aching.

One heel-encapsulated foot reaches out to slide up the inside of his thigh, but he catches her heel and firmly shakes his head no. She raises and eyebrow and pouts as prettily as she dares, but only earns a slight twitch in his lips and another small shake.

She's about to huff and slink off in a pout, until he sits back in his chair, lounging like the king in the castle, waiting to see what she'll do next.

 _Oh._

He wants a show.

She smiles her best seductive smile, one that Margaery made her practice an embarrassing amount of times, and spreads her legs to rest one heel on the outside of each of his knees, firmly planted on the leather of his chair.

She will give him a show.

He is rapt attention when she shrugs the rest of the dress of her shoulders, flicking her hair and sliding her hands back up her sides, up and up and up to the lace cups of her bra. It's the same one she wore when they first played what feels like forever ago, and she knows he knows it when she starts the pattern he first taught her. She fingers the straps, traces the lace scoops, and is grazing her fingertips along her protruding nipples as she flicks her eyes down to see the telltale bulge in his suit pants. He's watching her like he's going to eat her for dinner, and she's very much hoping that he absolutely is.

She teases along the underside of her breast, before reaching around to unhook her bra, sliding it down and leaning forward to place it in his lap. Who's panting now?

She sits back up, arches her back, and palms each of her breasts, rolling and teasing the nipples between her fingertips, licking her lips while he attempts to mumble some coherent response to the man on the phone.

Tywin Lannister, always in control, is panting at the site of a pretty girl playing with her nipples on his mahogany desk.

She trails her hands down to tease the edging of her lace thong, toying with it the way she did in that picture she sent him, and when she slowly starts to slide her fingertips along the slit, he nearly bucks out of his chair.

She thinks she's starting to understand what Margaery means when she says she wants to make Professor Bolton come undone.

The feel of her wetness coating her fingertips through the lace has her bucking in response, and it is a heady feeling to tease and touch and pleasure yourself in front of a man. He's watching her with such a fierce expression of concentration she'd flush if she were embarrassed, but she's so wound up on the high right now that she just bites back a whimper and plays along her slit.

She toys with herself, one hand holding on tight to the edge of the desk, feet still spread wide over his thighs, and she's starting to moan and whine, desperate for more friction. He knows it, and all of a sudden, while he describes the foreign investment markets to the man on the phone who knows nothing about what's really going on, he reaches one hand out, straight towards where she's aching and needing him most.

He hooks a finger right under, knuckle dipping just slightly into her core, as he curls his finger around the material and starts to pull, causing her to lift and then close and then resettle. Now she's completely naked, wet and wanting, spread open on his desk, while he sits back and fists her thong in his hand.

He raises an eyebrow, a silent challenge, daring her to continue.

She dares.

She brings her hand back between her thighs, and teases the tops of her lips before spreading her fingers into a V shape to splay her open wide. Her other hand comes around from the edge of the desk, and she gathers up the slickness dripping out of her core. She means to rub it all over where she's swollen and aching, but one look at his eyes has her raising that finger, up to her lips, and she darts her tongue out, swirling it around the tip and tasting herself with a small whine of delight.

He bucks so sharply he nearly drops the phone, and his fingertips are white where they are hanging on to the plastic. His lips are curled in almost a feral snarl, and the darkness in his eyes makes her want to come right then and there.

She's enjoying it too much though, has a taste of power and doesn't want to give it up, and so she slides her hand back down, swipes another bit, and has another lick.

He growls.

She's bringing her fingers back down when he slams the phone down on the console to hang up, and then he's reaching forward and jerking her roughly until she's sprawled wide open all over his lap, her head tucked into his shoulder. His fingers are pressing into her folds, and then he's swiping himself, bringing it up and taking a long lick right in front of her nose.

"Mmm. Delicious."

Her legs start to shake, she's squirming and whining with need, and he brings one hand around to cup the curve of her hip while the other one slides down between them to part her folds and begin to circle her clit. He's not as slow and tortuous this time, he's too far wound up, and so he's circling faster and faster and faster while she starts to cry out his name, pressing her face into his shoulder to muffle her scream.

The hand on her ass slides down further to press into her core from behind, and when he curls his fingers she comes hard in his lap, screaming with abandon, shaking and soaking the front of his black tailored suit. She collapses, totally spent, and he rubs her down from her high with slow little strokes that have her quivering with aftershocks of pleasure.

"What am I going to do with you?" He rumbles quietly into her hair, more to himself than her, she thinks.

She smiles, slides her fingertips over the front lapels of his jacket, and tilts her head back up to give him a coy little smile. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

He growls, leans forward to press his forehead to hers, before he gently lifts her up from his lap and sets her back on his desk. "Nothing at the moment. I have an event this evening, and I now must run home to change." His words are sharp but there's no heat behind them, and she gives him a shy smile as she starts to re-dress.

She's tying her wrap dress into a pretty little bow when a thought occurs to her, and maybe it's the high of pleasure, but she's blurting it out without a second thought. "Tywin, why haven't you kissed me?"

He stares at her, raises an eyebrow, and flicks his eyes pointedly towards the apex hidden by her dress.

She blushes and shakes her head with a small, worried smile. "No, Tywin. I mean a true and proper kiss."

His expression is unreadable, and without a word he takes her hand and leads her to the door, gently pushing her back out, and hands her the purse on her desk. She knows she looks hurt, and she just doesn't care. As she's about to turn on her heel and storm off, a light tug on her hand pulls her attention.

He's guarded now, and there's a formality present that wasn't there a moment ago, but she thinks that's to be expected since now anyone could walk by.

"Kissing makes it real. It makes the sensations real, it makes the emotions real, and it makes the relationship real. It is not the time for kissing."

And then the door is shutting in her pretty little shocked face, and it isn't until she's stepping off the bus and onto the pavement that she wonders just who, exactly, he thinks isn't ready for it to be real.


	7. Chapter 7

**Margaery: Tell me the kissing thing one more time? I still don't get it.**

 **Sansa: He literally said, and I quote, "Kissing makes it real. It makes the sensations real, it makes the emotions real, and it makes the relationship real. It is not the time for kissing."**

 **Margaery: Give me a fucking break, San.**

 **Sansa: I knowwww. I just- ugh! What do I do?!**

 **Margaery: Withhold the prize, of course.**

 **Sansa: What prize?**

 **Margaery: Oh, darling. I forget how adorably new you are to all of this ;) Refuse to participate in his little games anymore until he gives you a true and proper kiss. Take back some control, girl!**

 **Sansa: But I don't want to withhold the prize** **L** **I like what happens when I participate** **L**

 **Margaery: LOL don't I know how that feels. Professor 'flay and slay', as you call it, is refusing to play in his office on campus. Now, do I just bend to his will and meet him at a hotel like he asked?**

 **Sansa: No?**

 **Margaery: NO! I refuse, and dress even more provocatively, and perhaps I even flirt a little with students waiting to meet him after class, just to get his blood boiling. And do you know the results of my efforts?**

 **Sansa: No…**

 **Margaery: Wait and see, my friend. You wait and see.**

Ten minutes later, as Professor Bolton wraps up his lecture, he finishes with an odd look in Margaery's direction. "Ms. Tyrell, I would like to discuss further your paper on medieval torture methods. Would you please accompany me to my office after class?"

Sansa's openly gawking when Margaery winks and smiles serenely. "Certainly, Professor Bolton. I look forward to any insights you may provide."

Withhold the prize, indeed.

She's walking briskly down the hallway, heels click clacking and making her feel sexy and strong, when she notices that there's quite a lot of whispering and giggling from the cubicles and offices she's passing as she makes her way down to Tywin's suite. He's at the end of the hall, off in the corner a bit, and her desk station is right out front of his cracked open door.

She picks up her pace when she sees that her cute little desk, the one on which she'd placed pictures of her family and of her and Margaery, with her fancy little desk calendar and her pens and pads of paper lined up all neat and precise, is empty.

All of her stuff is _gone_.

It is when she dumbly sets her bag down on the top that she realizes she can hear yelling coming out of the crack in Tywin's door.

She can hear Robert's boom right away, he's hard to miss. He's going on and on about how it's _not that bad_ and _no big deal_ and _what's all the fuss about_. Oberyn, their attorney, is yelling right back, silky Dornish accent curling around the _you are going to sink us_ and _you will get us sued or worse_ so that they sound like a lovers' caress rather than the threats they are.

The one voice she expects to be coming out of Tywin's office is the one voice lacking, until the door swings wide and she's face to stunned face with the old lion himself. "Sansa, I trust your class went well?"

She's gaping, and he's glaring at her which means he knows she knows she's gaping, and she can only nod before she stutters a response. "Y-yes, T-Mr. Lannister, very well, thank you."

He nodded, a rather severe glare on his tight face, before stepping back and sweeping the door open wide. "You'll be wondering where your things are, I expect?"

She smiled and nodded gratefully, stepping into the room where two grown men are yelling and throwing fits like they are five years old. "Well congratulations, Ms. Stark," he says smoothly behind her, walking with purpose around her to resume his seat behind his desk, the very desk she's come on twice now, and by the look in his eye he knows what she's thinking and he's thinking it to.

The yelling has stopped, and now three sets of eyes are staring at her, one with confusion, one with desire, and one with a predatory gleam. "Ms. Stark, a pleasure to make your acquaintance at long last," the predator says smoothly, the slide of his accent doing delicious things to her spine.

"The pleasure is mine, please," she says coyly, taking his hand and batting her lashes before turning to address the rest of the room.

Tywin is not amused.

"Sansa, darling, come give your Uncle Robert a hug would you?" He's not her Uncle but he might as well be, for how close he is with her father. She gives him a hug and a friendly smile, noting that as always _Uncle Robert_ seems to squeeze the girls just a tad too tight.

Tywin is now even less amused.

She faces his glare head-on, a brave smile and inviting look in her eyes. Then she remembers what he said when he first opened the door, and now she's looking at him in confusion. "Did you say congratulations, Mr. Lannister?"

He stares at her a few beats more before making a minute nod of his head. "I did."

"Congratulations for what, Tywin? We've no time for this now!" Robert is back to his brash self, and if the red blotches and puffing of his cheeks tells her anything, it is that she is in for a world of trouble.

Whatever Robert's done, she's about to get looped in, she can feel it in her bones.

"Yes, to what do we owe this lovely girl's pleasure, Tywin?" She wonders how jealous all the girls in the break room would be if they here that she actually spent more than two seconds standing next to _the_ Oberyn Martell himself.

"Robert, meet your new babysitter. Sansa, congratulations, you have been promoted from temporary secretary to the Director of Social Media. Please cease all accounts from Robert this instant, and if you want to keep your job, change the passwords and refuse to allow him access ever again."

The silence is truly deafening at this point.

She is stunned, shocked openly, and staring at him with increasingly alarm as Robert begins to bluster and Oberyn begins to laugh.

"Oh, come now, Tywin, it wasn't that bad!" Robert does not sound the least bit remorseful, and Sansa's suspicion is cutting into her total sense of bewilderment. " _What_ wasn't?" She asks sharply, cutting in when the circle begins and Oberyn protests loudly.

Robert actually looks sheepish now, and Tywin raises one imperious brow before gesturing to the tablet resting on his desk. "Have a look for yourself. This is now yours, to monitor and manage all social media accounts for Westerosi Limited, Ms. Stark." Sansa takes two steps forward, picks up the tablet, and scrolls for just a moment before her eyes are open wide and her jaw is dangling towards the floor.

"You- I- You-" she's scrolling further, image after pornographic image decorating the screen of her pretty new tablet (he even picked out a lovely little case with matching stylus, how sweet!) and in a yelp of frustration she shuts the damn thing off. "YOU POSTED AND SHARED PORN ON THE COMPANY TWITTER PROFILE?!"

He has the decency to look mildly ashamed when she rounds on him, shouting for all she's worth, fury in her eyes when she pierces him with a glare that would do her mother proud. "You _posted_ and _shared_ PORN on the _company twitter profile._ " She repeats, still quite unable to believe those words are coming out of her mouth and she's lecturing the Robert Baratheon about his social media habits.

He mumbles something about deleting them a few hours later, and then she's off to the races, out of the gate like a rocket, making two of the three men in the room drop their jaws and stare ashamed at their feet.

Not the man behind her though. No, Tywin knew she had it in her all along, so he just sits back and enjoys the show of his pretty little kitten all revved up and gunning for the kill.

"Robert, it doesn't matter if you had deleted these a millisecond after you shared. It is the _Internet_. It now exists for the duration of time! Anyone could have saved a screenshot, and even now investors may be wondering why the hell the face of the company was looking at porn at ten in the morning on the company dollar? Do you have any idea what you've done? This is so embarrassing! For each and every employee who works here! How could you-"

She goes on and on and on, and by the end his shoulders are slumped so far she wonders how he hasn't toppled over.

She winds down and pauses to breathe eventually, and Tywin takes the opportunity to pointedly remark, "please provide Ms. Stark with all of the required information for the accounts by the end of the afternoon."

Robert shuffles out a few moments later, Oberyn on his heels, and then she is left huffing and puffing with the Lion of Lannister prowling behind her. He is up and around his desk before she can turn, pressing a gentle hand to the small of her back. "Would you like to see your new office, Director Stark?"

She's smiling coyly up at him now, a grin she can't contain peaking over her shoulder, and the little twinkle in his eye tells her he's smiling too. "I do hope it isn't too far, Mr. Lannister," she purrs, batting her lashes.

He scoffs, and with a nudge leads her towards one of the side doors of his office. "Tywin, please. We are now colleagues, Sansa."

Her breath catches in her chest as he pushes the door open wide, a direct connection to her brand spanking new office.

It's about as tasteful as tasteful can get, with large open windows, furniture and décor in soft creams and white. But the desk, oh the desk. It's what makes tears prick her eyes and her breath catch in her throat. It is an exact match, pen for pen, paper for paper, with how she'd had it set up before.

He's leaning casually against the doorframe when she turns with a tremulous smile. "Do you like it?"

Tears spill out and she's laughing and crying and launches herself at him without a second thought, throwing herself body and soul in his direction. He catches her, of course he does, with a muffled snort of surprise, pulling her into the circle of his arms and holding her tight.

"It is perfect, Tywin," she breathes into his chest, squeezing him tighter before gently disentangling herself to smooth back down the lapels on his jacket. "But, I must ask-"

"No." It is so firm she's not sure if he's telling her not to ask or answering her unspoken question.

"But-"

"No, Sansa. You were not offered this job because of our… because of me. I proposed you as the candidate when we determined this position was necessary. We require someone young, ambitious, intimately familiar with social media platforms, and in touch with today's market. You were the obvious choice. You may continue your schooling and we will keep your schedule flexible until you graduate next Spring."

He gently wipes the tears from one cheek, and though he strikes an imposing figure, she knows he's nervous she'll reject when he asks the next question so quietly she's straining to hear. "Do you accept?"

She laughs, happiness bubbling up out of her and spilling from her lips, and she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls, down, down, down, as she rises on her tip toes to meet his guarded gaze. "I do," she whispers against his lips, before leaning up the rest of the distance and doing what she's dreamed of since they first started texting all those days ago.

She kisses him, slow and timid and sweet, a gentle press and pull of her lips against his. He's malleable, though not responsive, and she lets her lips linger a few moments more before pulling back, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I just-"

His lips shut her up for good. They crash down on hers, fiery and hot and full of passion, tugging and pressing and nipping until she opens on a gasp and he can slip his tongue inside. They are a tangle and twist of tongues and lips, roaming hands and moving legs until she's propped up on her desk now, and he's between her legs, fingers tangled through her hair while he kisses the very breath out of her. Her head is swimming, her clit is aching, and all she wants is to finish what they've started, but the ding from his phone is a reminder of a meeting, and it hits her that its still the middle of the day, and there's work to be done for them both.

They break apart, a long, drawn out process of reluctant kisses and stolen breaths, until he rests his forehead against hers briefly before pulling away for good. "Settle in and set up the accounts. Congratulations, Sansa." And with that, he walks without a backward glance out of her office and into his, gently shutting the door behind him.

She's becoming acquainted with her new office and changing all of the social media account passwords a few hours later when a ping comes through on her desktop computer.

 **T. Lan: Is everything still to your liking, Sansa?**

 **S. Star: Yes, thank you** **J** **I'm making my way through the accounts now to clean up Robert's mess.**

 **T. Lan: I fear that will entangle you for the next month, if not longer.**

 **S. Star: Lol, well at least I won't get bored.**

 **T. Lan: Certainly, what a tragedy that would be. I am in a meeting reviewing all of the financials from the past quarter, and have heard them explained and re-explained more times than I can count, and yet Robert is still oblivious.**

 **S. Star: Are you messaging me for a little entertainment, Tywin?**

 **T. Lan: I would not be opposed to a distraction, Sansa.**

 **S. Star: Do you have plans for dinner?**

 **T. Lan: I do. We have the board meeting directly following the conclusion of this one.**

 **S. Star: Oh, that's too bad.**

 **T. Lan: Perhaps you'd be willing to indulge me with dessert?**

 **S. Star: Before, or after?**

 **T. Lan: I am a greedy man, Sansa.**

She smiles, know that means both, and settles in, kicking her heels off to get a little more comfortable.

 **S. Star: I was wondering, is there a dress code?**

 **T. Lan: Business formal, now that you are a senior staff member.**

 **S. Star: But underwear is optional, yes?**

 **T. Lan: Oh yes, Sansa. It is very much optional.**

 **S. Star: So it would be fine if I just, say, slipped my little lace thong off right now? And tucked it in to the drawer for safe-keeping?**

 **T. Lan: I'm afraid I must insist you tuck it into my desk drawer. My office is far more secure, you see.**

 **S. Star: Of course. Your door is locked, but I will wait until later and slip it in. For now, does that mean I have to keep them on?**

 **T. Lan: I believe an exception can be made in this instance. You may remove them, and tuck them into your own drawer.**

 **S. Star: Oh, much better. You know, with this wrap dress, it is no thing at all to untie and retie it in an instant.**

 **T. Lan: Oh, is that so?**

 **S. Star: Yes! In fact, I am untying it right now, and I bet if someone knocked I could have it retied and be presentable in a few seconds at the most.**

 **T. Lan: Take one hand and bring it up to flutter along the tops of your beautiful breasts. Tease the soft skin, before sliding down slow along your navel to your hips.**

 **S. Star: Yes, Tywin.**

 **T. Lan: Sit back a bit in your chair and spread your legs like you'd spread them for me if I were there. Imagine it is now my hand, I'm behind you as I was when we watched your friend Margaery touch herself and suck your teacher's cock. Do you feel me, Sansa? I'm playing along the wetness just starting to dampen your outer folds. I'm sliding my fingers through it, but too lightly to part them, and your starting to moan and ache and throb for me and me alone.**

 **S. Star: Yesss, Tywin. Please, I need more.**

 **T. Lan: I know you do, naughty girl. You want me to slip one finger, then two, into the knuckle in your core, gathering up your wetness before sliding up along to tease your clit. I'd circle and circle, so close but not giving you the friction you needed, while your hands gripped my thighs and you begged for my touch just as much as you begged for my cock.**

 **S. Star: Please, Tywin. I want to feel you play with my clit while you're deep inside me. I want to feel you.**

 **T. Lan: I'm pumping my fingers in and out of you now, getting you ready, and just as you buck and whine for more I shift you and thrust up and in, so deep you shudder, and while you adjust to my size my fingers return to play with your clit, rolling and circling and teasing until your riding my cock and coming all over my lap while I fuck you until you scream.**

 **S. Star: Oh, Tywin**

 **T. Lan: Did you come, Sansa? Did you drip all over that pretty dress of yours?**

 **S. Star: Yes, Tywin. But it only made me want you more.**

 **T. Lan: I'll pick you up outside your building at 9:00 sharp tonight. Wear your dress and don't keep me waiting.**

Sansa is smiling so wide her cheeks hurt when she flips out her phone and sends Margaery a text.

 **Sansa: You are a genius. Kissed today, and meeting after hours tonight.**

 **Margaery: :D**

 **Margaery: P.S. I told Roose you two watched us and you got off. He's wondering when you'll be so kind as to return the favor? ;)**

 **Sansa: I'm going to kill you!**

 **Margaery: Are you? Or are you a little bit excited and thinking maybe you'll mention it to your S.G. later on?**

 **Sansa: … I hate you.**

 **Margaery: ;) hugs and kisses, go get him girl!**


	8. Chapter 8

**R.B. my S.G.: Margaery, are you available this evening?**

 **Margaery: Why yes, Prof. Bolton, I do believe I am ;) What can I do for you?**

 **R.B. my S.G.: A friend called in a favor, and I require your assistance.**

 **Margaery: What kind of favor?**

 **R.B. my S.G.: The kind you'll very much enjoy.**

 **Margaery: Tell me when and where** **J**

 **R.B. my S.G.: My apartment in the city, 9:00. You recall the address?**

 **Margaery: Yes, dear. I'll be there!**

 **R.B. my S.G.: I am no one's 'dear'. I see I must remind you of that fact this evening. Please arrive fifteen minutes early, and you may not wear any clothing at all under that black trench I've seen you wear.**

 **Margaery: Studying my wardrobe, darling? Adorbs** **J** **I'll be there early. If you wanted to spend more time with me all you had to do was ask ;)**

 **R.B. my S.G.: One more step out of line and I'm going to fuck you until your close, time and time again, and come right before you finish so you're left whimpering and begging and pleading in frustration all over my bed.**

 **Margaery: I'll be good, baby, I promise ;)**

 **R.B. my S.G.: 8:45.**

 **Margaery: Until then :***

Sansa's standing outside on the curb a few minutes before nine, and she's texted Margaery a few times in excitement but has yet to hear a response. She fidgets with the tie of her wrap dress, shifting in her heels, until before she knows it the headlights of his black Mercedes curve around the corner, and then he's rolling to a stop and she's hoping in the passenger's seat.

"Hi," she says shyly, blushing profusely because this is the most alone time they've ever had and she realizes that beyond sex she has no idea what to say, and the last time this happened he shut her up with his fingers down her lace lingerie set.

"Good evening," he rumbles, already pulling out into the street as she clicks her seatbelt and sits back, toying with the tie once more. A long elegant hand gently closes down over the one she has clamped around the tie, and she sighs and smiles gratefully when he twines his fingers with hers, his eyes never once leaving the road.

"So, where are we going?" It seems a logical question, as she actually has no idea what's going on other than the vague reference to 'dessert' from earlier.

"My apartment. Is that to your liking?" His eyes still aren't leaving the road, but when she fidgets once more, this time from excitement, he casually brushes his thumb along the backs of her knuckles.

"Yes. I'd like that," she replies softly, squeezing his hand as she watches the lights of the city flicker by in the tinted window.

"I hope that you do. I have a surprise for you."

It's not what he says, but how he says it, that has a shiver of excitement racing down her spine. It's a promise of pleasure, threaded with desire, and she's already starting to dampen down below. She's not wearing the thong, she was able to slip into his office before she left and slipped it into his drawer, and so she's shifting as she glistens the creases of her thighs.

She's thinking of all the times the surprise could be when they're pulling into a slick underground garage, and he's parking in an assigned spot right next to the elevator. He puts the car in park, kills the engine, and shoots her a glance as he lightly squeezes her hand. "You'll like it."

 _That_ is most certainly a promise, and she knows her cheeks are flaming as she gives him a timid smile in response. "I know."

She swears his eyes darken three shades of green with those two words.

He disentangles his hand, comes around to help her out after she's opened her door, and escorts her with a gentle hand to her back in the direction of the elevator. An elevator with an actual _person_ operating it, who greets them as if they are lord and lady of the castle, before silently escorting them up to the penthouse floor. "Have a good evening Mr. Lannister, ma'am," he says politely, and she thinks that she could get used to being treated like a lady, and she's more than a little impressed with herself that she's caught the attention of a man like Tywin Lannister.

When the elevator opens it is into an elegant little hall that he gently pushes her into, before offering his arm and leading her to the sole door. It unlocks with a keyless entry number pad, and then he shuts off the alarm system as he leads her inside.

His penthouse is, quite simply, breathtaking.

An entire wall of floor to ceiling windows lines a majority of the space, and it is an open layout that his decorated sparsely, though with elegant and refined lines. The walls are a warm muted gold, the throw pillows are pops of crimson, and the kitchen is a chef's dream, with French white cabinets, white tile backsplash with gray grouting, and gray and white marble countertops. She doesn't even realize she's standing in the middle of it until she hears him come up behind her while she lovingly runs her fingertips over the eight-burner stainless steel stove.

"Make yourself at home." And though there's a note of wry amusement at the awe and wonder in her eyes, she can tell he's also being sincere, and it warms her heart and chases away a few of the butterflies beating away in her chest.

"It is… Oh, Tywin. This is truly stunning." She's spinning in a circle, feels like a princess dropping into another time, and when she finally meets his gaze again his expression is unreadable.

"Thank you. Would you like to see the rest?"

She gives him a teasing smile, her eyes dancing with amusement, and raises one eyebrow in a graceful arch. "What about my surprise?"

His gaze is sinful now, his expression absolutely predatory, as his eyes darken a few more notches and his nostrils flare a bit. "Right this way, my lady," and he gestures for him to precede him down the hall.

They pass several doors as they approach the one at the head of the hall, left slightly ajar. She turns and glances over her shoulder with a questioning gaze, and one deliberate nod from him has her pushing open the door like it was Christmas morning.

The gold and crimson California king bed would swallow any other space, with it's rich décor and elaborate mahogany wood carvings, but in this space, dominated by window after window after window lining two walls and showing the city skyline, it is merely holding its own. Her eyes sweep the room, noting the door to what appears to be an enormous spa bathroom, before returning to him with confusion. His back is to her, and he's flicking on a TV mounted opposite the foot of the bed, and pressing a few buttons on the remote.

"My surprise is you'll watch whichever movie I wish with me? It is Friday night, after all." He snorts at her wistful tone, and the heated look he sends her way has her pulse racing and her breath coming short.

"Close. Your surprise will begin momentarily." A few seconds later, something so confusing she has to do a double-take pops up on the screen.

Margaery. Margaery is in the center of the screen, peering as if trying to see in, her arm reaching forward to fidget with something just off to the right. She's got a frown of concentration, and her tongue is poking out like it does when she's thinking hard, and Sansa can only stare with bewildered confusion as Tywin takes several steps back until he's behind her.

Professor Bolton. He's there too, looming behind her, casually reclining with his arms folded, back against a wall next to a bed.

What-

"Roose, is this thing on? I can't see anything?"

Sansa gasps when she hears Margaery's voice come through the surround sound in Tywin's room, and stares with wide eyes as Margaery grins like a cat with the cream. "Ah, I believe we are live, darling!"

"What?" She's whispering to Tywin, but it is Margaery who answers, and Sansa jumps and tries to move behind him.

"Sansa, darling! So good to see you tonight! Though actually we can't see you, only you can see us. You see, my darling man happened to own your darling man a favor, and Tywin called it in with a request that we allow you two to watch us via webcam this evening. It is romantic really," she finishes with a dreamy sigh, "Tywin uses his favor just for your pleasure."

He snorts in front of her, and she's peaking around his shoulder as she whispers up at him "they can't see us?"

"Can't see a thing, dear, though I must say I'm a little disappointed," Margaery is winking at the camera with a broad smile while Roose pushes off the wall nd approaches to stand behind her.

"Perhaps one day they will return the favor?" He muses, head tilting down to sniff in the scent of Margaery's bouncing curls.

She sighs, and leans back into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Perhaps, though I don't mind dear."

Sansa hears his growl through the webcam when he mumbles something like _do you need another spanking, naughty little minx_ , and it is overwhelming to the point where she feels her head start to spin even as her clit starts to ache and her wetness begins to drip down her thighs.

She stands stock still, feeling Tywin move until he's behind her once more, and she watches openly as Roose begins to trail kisses along Margaery's neck, his hands coming around to lightly tease over her breasts through her tight cotton shirt. Sansa pants as Margaery does, watching as his thumbs brush over her straining nipples, before his hands slide down to take hold of the hem of her shirt while his teeth lightly tug at her ear. She sighs as Margaery sighs when Roose slides the shirt up and over her head, and Sansa gasps when she realizes why she'd seen Margaery's nipples bud.

Margaery isn't wearing a bra. Margaery isn't wearing a bra, and Sansa is watching as Roose's hands slide up and up and up over the long creamy skin of her belly, to lightly trail along the under curves of her naked breasts. Margaery's nipples are pretty as a pink rosebush, nipples perfect little points at the end of two thick handfuls, and Sansa hears herself whine when Margaery tosses her head back with a moan as Roose's fingers close down on those nipples, rolling and teasing them taut.

Sansa watches, pant for pant, whine for moan, as he teases Margaery's breasts, sucking and licking and nipping her neck, Tywin nearly forgotten behind her. She watches, as Roose's hands work Margaery into a frenzy, until she's sagging back against him, her head lolling on his shoulder as she begs him for more. She watches, as he chuckles darkly into her ear, before sliding his hands down to her waist, bringing them forward to teasingly dip into the front of her jeans, before unbuttoning and pushing them and her thong in one fell swoop down to the floor.

Sansa knows she's soaked the tops of her thighs by the time Roose's hands begin to tease the light strip of manicured curls lining up the front of Margaery's mound. Margaery spreads her legs wide, and Roose's hands begin to sweep across her thighs when Sansa feels a tug behind her. She moans as she's gently toppled back into Tywin's waiting lap, her back to his chest, and she has lost any shred of shyness and moans like there's no tomorrow when he hooks her legs and spreads them wide, his knees on the inside of both of hers.

He takes his time untying the wrap of her dress, and she watches as Roose slips one finger down to tease along Margaery's slit, before Margaery bucks and whines with pleasure as he gently circles her clit. Tywin's growl in her ear snaps her focus back, and she moans as he trails kisses up her bare collar and neck to her ear. "I see you forgot your lace from earlier," he purrs into her ear.

Sansa shudders as she sighs, tossing her head back but keeping her eyes forward on the screen, watching as Roose takes his time working over Margaery's clit. "I left it in your desk for safe keeping," she whispers, shivering when he nearly growls in her ear.

His voice has dropped several octaves and makes her nearly come right then and there. "Are you watching, Sansa? See as he teases her clit, makes her moan and writhe with need? She's desperate to come, but he takes his time, building her pleasure higher and higher." As his words race down her spine to pool and coil low in her belly his hands slip down across her bare thighs to grip and knead the flesh, fingers close, so close, to where she's wet and aching for his touch. She whines and shifts, desperate for some friction, desperate for some release, and he chuckles as he only continues to knead and tease his fingers along the edge. "Watch her, Sansa. See how she's collapsed back against him, toying with her own breasts as he slides another hand down to work into her core? He's going to make her come so hard she forgets her own name, and you like that, don't you, naughty girl?"

She whines, and bucks with a sharp arch when he traces one long stroke right up her slit, finishing with a flick to her clit. "Oh, _please_ , Tywin," she sobs, her back arched so far she is nearly looking up at the ceiling.

"Watch, Sansa," he growls, going back to kneading her inner thighs. "Watch as she drips all over his fingers. Can you hear her begging him?"

Oh, gods, she could hear. Margaery's sharp pants and long whines and pleads for him to fuck her and make her scream. Sansa his panting heavily, her head his spinning, and she can barely breathe for how much she aches, when Tywin's fingers finally return to where she needs him most.

Sansa is watching Roose bend Margaery over the bed, dropping his pants and sliding out his cock, when Tywin begins to slowly circle her clit. His pressure is teasing, a slow circle and slide as he gathers up the dripping wetness before returning, and she watches and bucks uselessly for more when Roose plunges into Margaery and her back arches with a scream.

Tywin's fingers pick up the pace in time with Roose's thrusts, and Sansa is sobbing right along with Margaery as her legs begin to shake when he finally thrusts two fingers deep inside her. She rides his fingers like Margaery squeezes Roose's cock, and before she knows it Margaery is screaming mindlessly as she comes, while Roose thrusts with abandon.

Tywin has her on the edge, every time she almost comes his teasing fingers retracting, and she can't take it and cries out with frustration when the hand that was pumping into her leaves to turn off the television.

"Did you enjoy your surprise?" He growls into her ear, and she shivers so hard she nearly comes but he takes away his fingers and gives her clit a light tap.

" _Please, Tywin,_ " she begs, so loud she's not sure if she's sobbing or screaming, and he growls with pleasure before lifting her up, turning and tossing her back onto the bed. She's sprawled, legs open wide, staring at him with unabashed need, her cheeks bright and rosy while her wrap dress flutters around her, still on her arms. He undoes his belt, his eyes so bright they nearly burn her skin as he slides down his dress pants and boxers, pulling out his cock.

She doesn't even get a peak at it before he crawls up the bed, tosses both of her knees over his shoulders, and thrusts into her with a hand on her clit and another on her breast. He is so thick, makes her feel so full and deliciously satisfied, that she comes apart on the second thrust, screaming his name and convulsing and flexing around him as he slams into her hard and fast, riding out her pleasure, wave after wave, until she's just coming down when he pulls out and comes with a grunt, his seed spilling hot all over the soft skin of her belly.

She's too satisfied to be embarrassed, too sated to care, when he collapses down against her, reaching for the tissues from his nightstand to wipe up the evidence of the best night of her life.

She hums with delight when he tosses the tissues towards the bin and pulls her in close, tucking her head into his shoulder as he kicks up one of the crimson throws from the foot of the bed. "You'll be staying, yes?" He rumbles into the tops of her hair.

She chuckles, snuggling in close to the curve of his neck, her arm over his chest and her leg over his thigh. "As if you could make me leave after that," she says dreamily.

She hears him make an amused snort as she drifts off to sleep, and she hears him whisper "good night, my lady," into her hair.

She's not sure if she says it out loud or if she's dreaming when she whispers back "good night, my lord," and hears him rumble with laughter in response.


	9. Chapter 9

Pale sunlight streaks through the walls of windows, illuminating the flecks of dust so that the room sparkles with a thousand tiny suns around her. Sansa blinks lazily, stretching and arching her back like a contented kitten, before turning over to face the other side of the bed with a pout.

Her lion has already left the bed.

A quick glance tells her he is elsewhere altogether, and she suddenly feels uncomfortably self-conscious about being naked and alone in Tywin Lannister's bedroom. She blushes, thinking about watching Margaery and "her S.G." (she refuses to think of him as Professor Bolton now that she's seen his cock), and can say without one single doubt that the previous night was the single most erotic night of her entire life. She arches and stretches one last time before kicking a leg out from under the sheets, flipping them up and over so she can roll up to stand. It isn't until she's making her way to the spa bathroom that's been calling her name that she has a disconcerting thought.

What if it wasn't quite so mind-blowingly, earth-shatteringly, gods-damningly amazing for him?

A sick feeling rolls through her as she gently shuts the door, and she tries not to let the tears fall.

Sansa Stark is naked in his bed.

Sansa Stark, the girl of his grandson's affections, flippant though they may be, is naked in his bed.

Sansa Stark, his colleague, is naked in his bed.

And he is ordering breakfast from the bakery down the street and having it delivered so that when she wakes she feels welcome and at home and doesn't wish to leave.

Hear me roar, indeed.

She scrubs her teeth with her finger and Tywin's toothpaste, spitting and swishing his mouthwash before finally using several tissues to clean and wipe the makeup from her face.

No wonder he left her alone. Those raccoon eyes would scare the Others themselves.

She sighs, pulling her tousled locks up into a messy bun, and decides to give herself a pep talk before waltzing out of the spa (which is replete with an elegant walk-in shower and the largest Jacuzzi tub she's ever seen, and she's hoping THAT gets put to use at some point in the near future). She grips the counter tight, gives herself a firm look, and makes herself repeat out loud. "You are Sansa Stark. You are beautiful. You are the prize. You did not force yourself on him, he invited you here. He is Tywin Lannister- if he wanted you gone, you'd be gone. Now put on your confidence pants, and go out there and wow him."

And with that, she walks back out, feeling quite proud until she realizes she actually doesn't _have_ any pants, or any underwear, or anything at all other than yesterday's dress and bra.

Oh, dear.

He's just setting up a tray of pastries alongside a pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice when he hears the sink run down the hall.

She's awake.

Oh, gods. She's awake. Sansa Stark is here, and she is awake, and now he has to face her, and he's armed himself with baked goods and orange juice.

Better perhaps if he's casual? Perhaps he could be reading the morning paper at the breakfast table, completely unconcerned, when she emerges? Perhaps he should bring her breakfast in bed?

Well, that plan would require her to be in bed, and as he'd just heard the faucet run, that is clearly unlikely.

It has been far too long since he's done this. Not since Joanna, nearly thirty years ago now. Sansa looks at him like he's the most delicious thing she's ever seen in her young life, and perhaps he is, but now he's suddenly feeling like he actually has to live up to it, and without his fingers or his tongue or his cock deep inside her he finds it's a bit more of a challenge than he'd anticipated.

Not that he is at all concerned. He is Tywin Lannister. He is the lion.

He is also the lord to the pretty lady who was recently very naked in his bed, according to her last night. _That_ will never get old, not in a million years.

He is the lion, and the lion is unconcerned when the lioness emerges, certainly. He will read the paper. He will not march back in and fuck her until she agrees to never leave.

That would be most undignified.

She's staring at the bra and dress neatly folded on a lounge chair, wondering when her own clothes became so unappealing. What does it say if she emerges wearing them? That she's ready to leave, and he should call her a taxi? Thanks for the fuck, I'll be going now? _That_ is not what she's hoping to convey.

OK, that's a good place to start. What is she hoping to convey? That she'd very much like to stay for awhile, certainly. For more than just the delightful bedroom (or any room) activities, too. Hmmm. So, if she were Margaery, she'd be dressed in something sexy, appealing, and casual.

Excellent. What a great thing it is to know that when her entire wardrobe presently consists of a dress and a bra.

…

Or does it?

Her eyes slide to the door to the right of the bed, and without a second thought she's marching into his closet, giggling with delight when the lights come up automatically at her entrance.

Where can she get one of these closets?! A girl needs a closet like this.

She scans the room, noting suit after expensively, exquisitely tailored suit, until her eyes light up on the rotating rack of dress shirts.

Yes. Margaery would absolutely head in this direction.

She picks out a plain back shirt, with soft fabric, indicating it is likely well worn by the sinfully delicious man who owns it. She slides it on, clapping with delight when she turns in the mirror and sees it drapes down to the tops of her thighs. She unbuttons and re-buttons and poses more times than she'd care to admit, before finally settling on half unbuttoned to peak at her cleavage, and she rolls up the sleeves. She takes a few steps before her eyes light up on the boxer briefs neatly rolled in little rolls on one large shelf.

Oh, yes. Margaery would finish it off with this too. She slides on a gray pair, and thinks she's truly outdone herself when the curve of her ass peaks out with each step or twist or bend.

This outfit most definitely says "I'm flirty, I'm fun, I'm casual, and I'd like to stay forever, thanks so much for asking".

He heard the faucet over thirty minutes prior. What in the gods is taking her so long? He's nearly finished with the paper, and if he is to maintain his air of casual indifference, he'll have to re-read before she finally deigns to grace him with her presence.

Perhaps she went back to sleep? In which case, plan B would be in order, and he should prepare her a tray? Perhaps she's contemplating how to leave? Texting that little Tyrell friend of hers? Calling a taxi?

He is too old for this.

He makes several motions to rise from his chair, and just as he resettles the paper and decides he will at least finish his first read-through, he hears the door to his bedroom crack open, and then she appears.

The sight of her, hair in a messy topknot, tendrils framing her lovely heart-shaped face, in his dress shirt and his briefs, nearly does him in. He is so close to tipping his hand, so close to giving the game away, that it takes every last ounce of restraint in his bones to simply nod once, in gesture towards the tray, before forcing his eyes back to the paper. "Good morning," he says calmly, outward exterior every inch the lion, internally every bit the cub with a pretty girl he was so long ago.

Gods. If Joanna could see him now.

Her face falls only for a moment at his less than enthusiastic greeting, before she spies the lemon pastry calling like a beacon in the middle of the tray. With a little pep in her step, she hurries over to snatch it off the tray, setting it down on the white plate, while pouring herself a glass of juice. Her eyes dart around the table, and she decides that as his reaction was far less than what she'd hoped for, perhaps she'll have to work a bit harder to make him realize that of course they should spend the day together.

With a firm nod of encouragement to herself, she picks up her glass and plate and makes her way until she's seated directly next to where he's at the head of the table, angling her body so that if he flicked the paper down he'd be treated to the sight of her, dressed in his clothes, enjoying the most exquisite lemon pastry she's ever seen.

Oh, hells. Who cares what he thinks. She has a lemon pastry!

She dives in, the lemon curd bursting into her mouth, and cannot contain a breathless moan of delight.

 _That_ seems to get his attention, and she sees him peaking over the tip of the paper, watching as she licks every last crumb from her lips before diving in for another bite. He watches, his eyes hungry, as she devours every last morsel, before washing it down with a few sips from her orange juice. Licking the bits of curd and icing from her fingers, one by one, she gives him a shy smile.

She thinks later it is the stark contrast between her shyness and the bold swipes of her tongue over her fingers that has him jerking to attention.

"I see you enjoyed your breakfast. Are the lemon pastries your favorite?"

She smiles, nodding gratefully, as she lets the last finger go with a _pop_. "Yes, thank you! I just love lemon pastries, lemon cakes, lemon cookies, anything lemon really," she's babbling now, but he seems amused, and she's happy to have his attention. "Have you eaten? I can get you something?"

He seems startled by the offer, and she has to bite back a giggle when he blinks a bit owlishly before rising. "Actually, I haven't. I must have forgotten. I'll help myself, would you like anything else?"

His eyes flicker her way as he walks around the table, and she can't help the giddy smile she sends him in response. "You wouldn't happen to have any more lemon pastries hidden away, would you?"

The flicker of a smile that had been there around the edges is a full-blown smirk now. "As a matter of fact, I do."

"I don't understand how you've never seen it! It is truly a classic!" He looks at her dubiously, the remains of their breakfast from several hours ago long since forgotten, as they've talked on everything from the weather to the price of tea in Braavos, and she can't help but glare at him with insistence. "Seriously! He shows up in a sports car, asking for directions, and just can't help himself, and next thing you know he's buying her new clothes and then when the week is up riding up in a limo with a dozen flowers asking her to be his!" She sighs for affect, pressing her hand to her chest. "It is _soo_ romantic!"

He is not convinced. "A rich man pays for a whore, then decides to keep her after he bought her presents. This is a classic tale of romance."

She giggles with slight outrage, reaching across to smack him on the arm. "Don't you see? Their differences didn't matter in the face of their love?"

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure that thought was flimsier than a paper boat when they were out to dinner one evening and were joined by one of her former  
'Jon's', as one would call them."

She shouts with full outrage now, her eyes dancing, and stands up with her hands on her hips. "Do you have a video service program? We have to watch it. Immediately. Just because you know the story doesn't mean you've _felt_ it, Tywin."

Several hours later, as the credits roll and she wipes a tear from her cheek, he believes she's right.

They're making dinner together now, laughing and sharing stories over a bottle of wine as she tosses the salad and he dishes out the lasagna. He's not certain he's ever had this much fun.

He's absolutely certain he's never talked, or laughed, so much in his life. Maybe not even with Joanna.

As they clear their plates, she shoos him from the kitchen, telling him that he can relax while she cleans up and prepares a little treat for dessert.

He's terrified as he reclines in his bed, sipping a glass of Scotch. Terrified that he's far too attached to a little auburn lioness and doesn't want to let her leave.

Sansa's making a big show of putting the dishes in the dishwasher, and soaking the casserole dish, all while she's dying to get into that container of whipped cream she spied in his freezer earlier. When his back was turned she popped it out and hid it in the back of his fridge, praying every time he popped his head in that he wouldn't spy it.

He hadn't.

She slips off the dress shirt and briefs, folding them neatly to rest on the counter, and then uses a spatula to arrange dollops on her nipples and the front of her shaved mound. She licks the spatula, because whipped cream is _divine_ , and then stows the container back in the fridge and makes her way towards the bedroom.

Tywin goes perfectly still when she comes through the open door.

His glass is raised to his lips, and he's gripping it so hard she can see the white on his knuckles. His eyes go from blank to burning in a matter of heartbeats, and the low appreciative rumble he sends in her direction makes her wet between her legs.

Sansa licks her lips, giving him a coy smile, as she slowly walks to the side of the bed where he's reclined. "Are you still interested in dessert?" She teases, a flirtatious sparkle in her eyes.

The rumble floats out of his chest again, and she tries to repress a shiver as he slowly, ever so slowly reaches and sets his glass down on his nightstand.

"Most assuredly."

She feels her cheeks flush as he studies her, one long, heated perusal, from the tips of the cream on her nipples to the tips of her toes. The weight of his gaze feels like the licks of a flame, burning and sending her skin dancing with delight, and she is a needy, wanton mess by the time he beckons her with one finger and one word. "Come."

Oh, gods. She just about does.

She climbs on the bed, crawling until she's spread flush across his thighs, seated in his lap. He takes his time, lazy fingertips dancing up the smooth skin of the backs of her thighs, before coming around to tease the fronts, circling and tracing and delighting wherever they please. He clucks his tongue with disapproval, and there's a glint in his eyes that has her breath catching in her throat and her wetness dripping down the top of one thigh. "You brushed whipped cream on the comforter. Whatever shall I do?"

She is a quivering mess when he sits up, close enough to whisper in her ear, far enough so that the cream is an inch from his shirt. "I fear you must be punished."

A high whine sounds from her throat when he grips her by her waist, raising her until she's standing. He follows her from the bed, and she starts to turn until a firm hand pushes, so that she's bent at the waist and her head and arms are resting on the edge of the mattress, while her feet are firmly planted on the floor.

Sansa's never presented her bottom like this, never even dreamed of it, and the feather light touches he leaves on the exposed, sensitive skin make her sigh and shiver with pleasure.

 _Smack_.

A light tap, just enough to make a small patch of skin pink, makes her jump and yelp with alarm.

He licks a trail of fire with his tongue, straight up the center where she's exposed, and she bucks and keens when another light tap lands on the other cheek.

Another lick, the tip of his tongue flickering to gather a bit of cream before circling her clit, and she's crying out with pleasure, tingling with sensation, when another tap lands, a bit firmer than before.

And so it goes, lick, then tap, lick, then tap, until she's crying and moaning and sobbing with pleasure, overcome and quivering and desperate for release, begging and pleading while he takes his time, lick, then tap, lick, then tap.

It is right after one tap, a little pause that has her arching for more, when he spreads her legs with a firm grip, and slams into her, burying his cock to the hilt.

His groans match her cries as he fucks her with abandon, his pace hard and face, her cream covered breasts bouncing in rhythm, his hand between her legs flicking her clit faster and faster. She's close, so close, but it's just not enough, just not getting her where she desperately needs to be.

It is one very firm smack, in rhythm with a slight tug on her clit and a hard pulsing thrust, that has her shattering into a thousand little pieces by the light of the city skyline. She screams, and nearly faints, as he rides her pleasure and holds on just enough to keep himself on the edge. When she surfaces, panting, to feel him still thrusting lazily into her fluttering core, she moans deliciously, curling her toes and arching back for more.

A firm hand flips her, and she finds herself on her back, her bottom hanging off the edge of the mattress, her legs wrapped around his waist while he's slamming into her with long, slow thrusts that make her keen and sigh and hold on tight to the sheets below. He leans over, lapping up each and every dollop of cream, teasing and rolling her nipples with his tongue while his cock rocks her core, and this time when she comes, with a litany of screams praising his name to the heavens, he's right there with her, grunting with satisfaction, whispering her name with awe.

He slides an arm under her waist, lifting her up and settling her back down under the covers with him. She curls up into his chest, knowing right where her head and her arms and her legs fit, while he twirls his fingers through her hair. "So, what films do I like that you haven't seen?"

She giggles, snuggling further, peaking up at him beneath her lashes. "You mean they had films when you were young?"

He growls, flicking on the television with a mock glare. He chooses a film about a tortured romance between an opera singer and a musical genius with a secret and face to hide, and she thinks that she couldn't have imagined a more perfect day if she tried.


	10. Chapter 10

**THANK YOU to everyone who follows and comments on this story! :)**

The credits are rolling, the haunting music is echoing through his bedroom, and he is curled up under the duvet with the prettiest young lady he's ever seen. She's sprawled all over his bare chest, they are a tangle of limbs, and her curls tickle his nose with each intake of his breath.

He shifts, careful not to break the spell that has a woman born of fantasy dozing in his bed, and reaches out towards the remote on his nightstand. He pushes the button, turning off the flat screen and instantly dousing the only source of light in the room, until the twinkle of the city skyline filters through the blackness to illuminate in tiny pinpricks the world around him.

Yes, it is still true. Sansa Stark is still naked as her name day and curled up around him in his bed.

He settles back into the pillows and sighs, sending messages down his nerves straight to his stiffening cock, urging it away for the time being. He should let her rest.

She sifts with a sigh, burrowing closer, as if she were trying to crawl up under his skin, and her thigh strokes along his leg, lightly caressing his growing erection. He can feel a bit of dampness begin to coat his leg as she rubs more and more, and realizes as she sighs that she's dreaming something delicious, and bringing herself off because of it.

With a wicked smile, he gently adjusts her, curling her around a pillow as he slips from the bed and heads down the hall towards the kitchen.

Resting is for the dead.

 _She's on his lap in the Jacuzzi tub, her hair an auburn waterfall cascading around them, sheltering them in from the fifty little candles he's lit around the room. The scent of roses is in the air, from the petals he's scattered over each and every inch of the countertops and floors, and it mixes with the heady scent of sex and arousal as she rides him for all he's worth, water sloshing out of the tub be damned. She's close, so close, grinding against him on each downward slide just right so her clit gets that delicious friction that sends her toes to curling and her heart to clenching._

 _All of a sudden, the friction is gone, he's slipping away, and she's left with something soft and not at all firm or hard enough to give her what she needs in his wake. She's about to protest, about to cry out in dismay, until she grinds whatever it is just right, and it sends another tendril of pleasure down to curl her toes._

 _"Tywin," she sighs, shivering and panting with need, as she grinds, faster and faster, closer and closer, until-_

"Ah, I wondered if it was me you were drenching my pillow for." There's that voice, those dulcet tones making her throb and ache as her eyes shoot open wide and she blinks away the haze of sleep. She rises her head and goes to twist around, until she realizes her hands are bound and spread open, each one pointing towards a poster of the headboard.

He chuckles next to her ear. "You were having quite the naughty dream, Sansa. You've made a mess in my bed. I intend to punish you. Are you ready to play?"

Is she ready to play? She is sure she will _die_ if she doesn't.

"Oh yes, Tywin," she breathes, still a little sleepy, very much aroused, wondering what delicious torment he is going to inflict as she lays on her stomach with her arms lightly bound. Her feet are momentarily free, she notices, and she feels him shift as he moves away towards the end of the bed, out of eyesight, not that she can see much by the light filtering in through the windows.

It is the middle of the night, and she is tied up and at the mercy of Tywin Lannister in his bed.

A bolt of lust shoots through her so acutely she doesn't even bother to bite back the moan of exasperated need.

She feels the bed shift, and surmises he is likely climbing up behind her. Her mind is spinning, wondering what he's going to do next, when all of a sudden she feels something so cold at first she thinks she's burning, as it traces down her spine to settle in the curve of her lower back. She arches, crying out, as liquid heat follows in the coldness' wake, pooling low in her belly, making her drip ever more into the sheets below.

She hears him tsk, feels a slight swat on her bottom, and moans with so much insistent need she hears him start to pant. "You must hold very still, Sansa," he says silkily, his lowered tone grating on her heightened nerves just right, making her tremble with excitement. "The ice will start to melt. If you let the water fall on the sheets, I will have to stop and punish you. You wouldn't want that, would you, naughty girl?"

She is breathless excitement, a bundle of nerves and need, and she is desperate for whatever pleasure she knows is careening along the highway in her direction. "Oh _no_ , Tywin, I'll be good."

The nip she feels on the tender skin where the curve of her ass meets the top of the back of her thigh as her bucking so profusely she feels the ice tip dangerously, and she has to readjust fast before it slides right off her back. He growls, out of pleasure or as a warning she isn't certain, and soothes away the sting with a swipe of her tongue, a swipe that dips and follows all the way down until his nose blows a teasing puff of air against her hot, pulsing core.

She's ready now, just barely, and she flexes and pushes her weight lightly onto her elbows and knees as she tries to hold steady. She thinks he's going to lick and flick where she's throbbing nearly to the point of pain.

She is wrong.

A nip on the other side, again where her thigh meets her ass, has her dipping and resettling, crying out with frustrated need. She feels the ice melting into a little puddle on her back, and she tries to hang on as he leaves a trail of fiery nips, following the underside of her cheek, down and around her inner thigh.

He reaches to gently spread her legs, encouraging her up fully onto her bound hands and knees. She's up in an instant, breathless pants, needy moans, insistent whines. She aches with an appetite only he can satisfy; she pulses with a lust only he can slake; she needs with a desperation only he can match.

He more than rises to the occasion.

One long exhale against her swollen, throbbing clit, and she is biting to the point of drawing blood.

One teasing nose, parting her folds, inhaling her scent straight form her core, and she is whining until her voice breaks.

One sinful kiss, close lipped, on the flesh of her mound just above her throbbing clit, and she is bucking until she recalls the puddle of water, not a moment too soon, as one little bead begins to trickle down her side.

He swipes the bead with his tongue, lapping it up the way she's desperate for him to lap at _her_ , and he nips her side playfully before resettling between her spread legs. "That is your only warning, Sansa."

She's so wrapped up in the pleasure; so wrapped up in the ache; so wrapped up in the need for release and the concentration holding still requires, that she can't even form a response other than a long, drawn out, moan.

It must satisfy, because one bated breath later, he licks between her folds, teasing his tongue around a track from her clit to her core. She grinds her teeth, tosses her head with abandon, and shoves her knees and hands heavily into the mattress, desperately trying not to buck or arch when his tongue flicks along her clit, pressing from different angles, varying the pressure, varying the approach, trying, desperately to break her and do her in. He is relentless in his pursuit, as his tongue flicks, the tip teases, the flat slides, and he is not even satisfied when her legs start to shake and she starts to sob his name. He's not satisfied when he brings her to the edge, not satisfied when he withdraws and she cries out so sharply from the _ache_ , not satisfied when she begs and pleads on her hands and knees.

No. He's not satisfied. Until she bucks back has she feels his tongue ghost along her engorged clit, a barely there touch when she needs _more_ , and she causes the puddle to collapse and drip down her sides onto the sheets below.

She's broken, a wanton, needy mess, unable to even hold herself up on her hands and needs.

She's desperate, screaming and begging, nearly to the point of crying, when he withdraws and spanks her hard for her indiscretion.

She's dying, doesn't care if she's going to heaven or one of the seven hells, when he yanks her hips hard and slaps into her from behind, fucking her with long, deep thrusts, quick jerks of his hips as he crashes into her and she crumbles and splits into a billion splinters around him, pleasure blinding her as she screams herself hoarse and plummets off the cliff and into the blackness below.

He comes with such force it actually takes his breath away, spilling his seed with a roar. He'd forgotten the condom, but she'd mentioned she's on birth control, and so he couldn't give a fucking damn as he fucks her pretty auburn head into his pillows. He feels her, milking him for all he's worth, clenching and tightening and pulsating around him, and he grinds his teeth when he finally pulls his softening erection out of her wet heat. She's face down in the pillows, breathing slow and deep, and doesn't move an inch as he uses a washcloth to gently clean their sex from between her pretty thighs.

She stirs when he finally slips back into bed next to her, gathering her up in his arms, and she is boneless and pliant and warm when she curls around him. He presses a kiss to her hair, trying and failing to fight back a smile, when she mumbles into his chest.

"Have I died?"

"No, Sansa."

She sighs dreamily, shifting until she's curled and wrapped around him so tight he's not sure where he ends and she begins. "A pity," she whispers, on the fringes of sleep.

"Hmmm?" He's close to sleep too, and not interesting in carrying much more of a conversation.

"If I were dead, then we could do this forever and ever." Her voice is so faint she's closer to her dreams than the living, yet her words start a curious tattoo in his chest as his heart thumps wildly and his adrenaline pulses.

"Would you like that? To do this forever?" He asks quietly, and scoffs at himself as he realizes he's not quite because he's afraid to wake her, he's afraid of her answer.

She's silent so long that he calms back down and starts to drift off to sleep. Just as he leaves the goddess in his arms to join her in his dreams, he hears her whispered musings. "I would love to, Tywin."

The sound of a gentle rumble in her ear brings her awake in the morning, and she realizes with a soft smile that apparently she has woken before her host this time. She presses a soft kiss to his chest, tenderly runs her thumb along the frown lines creasing his forehead, before lightly pulling back to roll off the other side of the bed. She holds still a few seconds when she hears his rumbling pause, but relaxes with a grin when they take up once more, and he sighs back into sleep.

She makes her way to the bathroom, and doesn't even hesitate before gently closing the door and turning on the magnificent walk-in shower. It is decadence incarnate, the very essence of luxury, and she basks in the marble tiles and the pulsing hot water and the scent of his soap on her skin as she cleans herself and the tension slips from her shoulders. She frolics under the water for longer than she ever has in her life, until with a reluctant sigh she realizes he may want warm water too when it's his turn. She flips the faucet off, wraps herself up in an enormous, oversized, fluffy towel, using a smaller one to wrap up her dripping hair. She primps and preens in front of the mirror, brushing her teeth, before towel-drying her hair and brushing it lightly with her fingers.

She does not feel the need to stand on ceremony with Tywin, does not feel inadequate with no make-up and wet, tousled hair, wearing only a towel. She feels like the belle of the ball, the prettiest girl in the world. She gently opens the door, and is deliriously pleased when she sees he still hasn't woken, hasn't even moved a muscle from where he rests on the bed. She slides on the t-shirt he wore yesterday, forgoes the briefs, and slips from the room, down the hall to start breakfast.

Tywin's eyes pop open to watch her as she walks away, and he doesn't bother containing his grin at the sight of her, her naked cheeks peaking out under the hem with the sway of her hips, her thick hair dampening the top of yesterday's shirt. He lays there, waiting, until he hears her whisking and humming away in his kitchen, and then he rises from the bed and makes his way to shower, scooping up her wet towels and depositing them in the basket as he goes.

A small price to pay for the prize that she is.

He rinses and relaxes, wondering what she's making for breakfast, until with a little lurch he realizes he must return her to her dorm today, and tomorrow must work with her as if nothing has happened.

The cogs and wheels turn in his mind as he ponders different options and solutions, until one presents itself with crystal clarity.

It is at the front of his mind when he dries, the front of his mind when he dresses, the front of his mind when he meets her in the kitchen and is greeted with a cup of coffee exactly how he takes it, and a plate full of eggs and bacon and toast.

He slides in at the bar top, watching in fascination as she fixes up her plate, repressing a grin when she slides in next to him, mirroring his posture as she hunches over the bar and digs into her eggs and coffee and toast with a lack of grace that is more charming than any elegance he thinks he's ever seen.

It is at the front of his mind when she finishes with a delighted moan, at the front of his mind when she takes his cleared plate with a happy grin and begins to clean up, at the front of his mind when she smiles with such a tender fondness it hurts his heart as he picks up the towel and begins to dry the dishes she's washing.

They retire to the living room in companionable silence, her legs on his lap as he reads the paper and she flips through the news on her smartphone. He peaks at her over the corner, and she's her peaking right back at him, a teasing smile on her face and a happy blush to her cheeks, before she giggles and shakes her head and returns back to her phone, only to peak back up at him a few moments more.

It is simple, really.

He just won't let her go.


	11. Chapter 11

**This chapter is the result of a request! Sadly, this is the last installment until the week of Sept. 11th. I'll be on vacation! :) I hope you enjoy!**

They're halfway through their milkshakes, legs swinging from where they perch on the ledge of the garden bed, all giggles and laughter and sun-kissed skin while they anxiously await the results of Professor Bolton's final. Margaery didn't study a wink, but she knows Sansa probably did, and she wonders how upset Sansa will be when she realizes they each scored a passing grade simply because she's the S.G.'s new lady.

Based on the story Sansa has been spinning of a weekend playing Pretty Woman with Tywin Lannister, she thinks Sansa likely won't even notice.

It is a warm Tuesday afternoon, she's got her white aviator shades on, short shorts and flip flops, and Margaery is sure that she will dream of days like this until she dies. Sansa is busy recalling in detail the pleasures one can cause with just a cube of ice, and Margaery is wondering what her S.G. would think of giving that a go, when they both receive the _ping_ of an incoming email notifying them the results have been posted online.

They are silent except for the slurp of straws in shakes as they log in on their phones to check their scores. "B! Your man gave me a B! I studied all night for that test and I only got a B?!" Sansa is bemused outrage, innocent annoyance, while Margaery's temper is flaring so hot she's fairly certain she could burn up the sun.

She hops off the ledge, rage in her eyes, her pulse in her throat, and chucks her still half-full shake into the trash bin as she takes off at a saunter, hips swinging, flip flops clapping, down the lane towards Professor Bolton's office.

"Oh, Marg," Sansa calls, but Margaery doesn't want her pity right now, she wants answers, so she just calls over her shoulder as her eyes continue to pierce the office window she can see blinking in the distance.

"You know its bad when I can't even finish my milkshake! He is a dead man!"

She hears Sansa giggling behind her and cheering her on, and she allows the faintest smile to light up her face before she spots a flutter in the blinds as she closes in.

He is a dead man.

Sansa flips to Tywin's cell and dials as she sashays towards her dorm to start packing. He answers on the first ring.

"How did it go?"

Her heart squeezes at the actual interest in his tone, at the way he can care about her results on a simple exam, when she knows he's in the middle of the work day she skipped, and it makes her want to kiss him then and there. "Better for me than Margaery. I got a B, but her grade was so bad she was making a beeline for his office when I left her. She may actually give Professor Flay and Slay a run for his money, Tywin."

He snorts at the moniker, and she can just _feel_ him shaking his head. "And what will you be up to with the rest of the day off?"

She sighs, panting a bit as she finishes climbing to the third floor where her room is, and wonders if maybe she's skipped one too many spin classes with Marg if three flights of stairs has her embarrassingly winded. "I'm thinking of lining up a few apartments to tour this weekend. I have to be moved out by next Wednesday if I don't want to stay in the dorms this fall, and now that I have a real job I have no desire to stay on campus."

There is a long, somewhat befuddling pause, as she jangles her key in the lock and bursts into the blissfully cool room. "Tywin?"

"Very sensible of you," he replies slowly, an odd note in his usually formal tone. "I may have a few ideas for you as well."

She smiles brightly, flopping down onto her bed and slurping the last few sips of her milkshake. "Okay! Would you want to see them together, maybe Saturday?" She realizes what she's just asked of him and immediately begins to backtrack, her cheeks flushed pink and her heart thudding sickeningly in her throat, but he readily agrees and it soothes her nerves and makes her question how deeply she actually has begun to care for the old lion of Lannister.

"It would be my pleasure. Now, I must attend the meeting with Oberyn and Robert you so strategically seem to be missing this afternoon. I will see you tomorrow morning?"

She's grinning so wide she's sure her flash of teeth could direct a plane to land. "I can't wait," she says happily into the phone.

She giggles when she hears his reply before the _click_ of the call disconnecting. "Neither can I, my dear."

Margaery doesn't even bother to knock.

She flings the door open wide, unconcerned with the look of shock on Professor Bolton's face (which she narrowly missed), and marches right in, poking a finger to his chest. "You gave me a D!"

His eyes are narrowed, and he looks far less than amused, as he gently reaches around her to push the door shut. "You earned a D. It was a computerized examination, there was no room for bias one way or the other on my part, Ms. Tyrell."

He is far too calm, that arrogant ass. "Don't you Ms. Tyrell me, mister!" She punctuated each word with a jab of the tip of her finger, trying to ignore the pain from his hard chest. That man has the most delicious musculature.

He sighs, staring at her as if she were the most wearisome creature in the world. "What do you propose I do about your lack of preparation, Margaery?"

A small victory! He's used her first name!

Hmmm. Well, the solution is obvious. "I _propose_ you adjust my grade. Give me some extra credit or something! I didn't miss a single class!"

"Yes," he drawls, all arrogant swagger and dubious eyes. "That served you so well, apparently." He's eyeing her shrewdly now, his head tilted in thought, before a gleam lights up the corner of those eyes she dreams about each night. "Perhaps you'd care to take an oral examination?"

Her grin is catlike, her shorts are dampening, and she nods excitedly in agreement. "Yes, yes. That would be perfect! Let's get started! You have a seat in your chair, darling." She sweeps around to hop up and perch on the edge of his desk.

She should have known better from the glint in his eyes and the dangerous smirk tugging the corner of his mouth.

He follows her around the desk, tugging her up before slowly unbuttoning her shorts. She reaches for his waist but he bats her hands away, shaking his head and continuing until he's shoved them down and had her step out. He shakes his head with a tsk and a smirk. "No panties? My my, what a naughty girl." As she opens her mouth to respond he shoves her back down to sit on his desk, spreading her legs wide. He trails his fingertips up and down her inner thighs, and she shoots him a sultry smile when he settles at his chair and hikes up so his nose is between the juncture of her thighs.

"Each correct question you get a bump of half a letter grade. The highest you will go is a B. Now, let's begin." Her mouth is hanging open in shock when he licks the first swipe between her folds, his tongue circling around her tingling clit.

"Describe the knife you should use to flay the skin off a man." And then he's back between her thighs, licking her clit, and her head is swimming and she fights back moans as her mind races and comes up dreadfully short.

"I- what?" He gives a light little tug of her clit between his teeth, making her cry out with alarm and a thrill of excitement.

"Five seconds, Margaery. Describe the knife that you should use to flay the skin off a man."

She stares down at him, equal parts lust and exasperation, and hates him a bit for the smirk she can see pulling the corners of his eyes. "H-honed and th-thin," she gets out, between pants and whines and sighs.

He nods as he hums into her core, making her clench and quiver with excitement, as his tongue traces and teases and her legs begin to shake. "D+. Would you like another question?"

She swallows back a glare and nods as she knows he likes, all wide innocent eyes and breathless whispers. "Oh yes, please, Professor Bolton."

His answering growl makes her shiver as her toes curl.

"What is the type of metal exalted for weaponry in Medieval Westeros?" He slips one finger inside her, curling it at the tip as he laps at her clit, and she whines and slams back onto the desktop as her body quakes and her mind once again takes off.

She knows this one! "Val- _ohhh_ , Valyrian steel," she moans, sighing as she feels another thrum of approval, this time hummed around her engorged clit.

"A C now. Hmmm, let's see. What was the ancient throne in King's Landing built out of?" She pales, mind totally blank, as he rolls her clit between his tongue and teeth and adds a second finger to tease along with the first, pumping into her with a lazy rhythm as he brings her closer and closer towards her pleasure.

"I- oh, Roose, I'm not-"

"Professor Bolton, Ms. Tyrell. The throne?"

Her mind is spinning, her body is thrumming, and it hits her as he pierces her with yet a third finger. "Swords! Melted down swords!"

This hum comes with a flick of his tongue, and she nearly falls apart right there. Her hips are bucking wildly, her limbs shaking violently, and she's so close she can feel her throat start to clench with the scream. "Very good. Last question, which would give you a B." A fourth finger pushes in, and she's strung out so far she barely hears him as he growls the question against her clit. "What sound did the people make when the Bolton's relieved them of their skins?" His lips closed down around her clit, his fingers curled just right, and as he sucks and fucks she rides him with abandon, screaming and arching as she comes with a gush of liquid all over his hand.

Her eyes are shut, her chest is heaving, and she feels him stand and lean over her to whisper in her ear. "That is correct. Congratulations, you've passed my class with a B."

Sansa is the first one in the office this morning, and as she scans the texts Margaery sent her she can't help but flush with anger. She understands special treatment, lord knows Margaery probably earned it, but a B?! They walked out with the same grade when Sansa studied for it and Margaery just… Well, fucked for it?!

Her glare is mutinous as she turns back towards the report she received from Robert with the social media briefing, and her fingers click furiously as she pounds out a response, jarring the keyboard with the ferocity of it.

"My, aren't we in a temper this morning," Tywin says languidly from the adjoining door, wry amusement lifting his brow.

Her nostrils flare as she sighs and slumps back in her chair, giving him a welcoming smile. "The world is against me today Tywin. Whatever will I do," she sighs dramatically, tossing her arm over her brow for further affect.

She can _feel_ him rolling his eyes as she hears him pad across the floor in her direction.

"You can enjoy this disgustingly sweet breakfast I've brought you. Lemon pastry with a lemon crème latte, from the bakery down the street from my apartment." He plunks both items down on her desk with a flourish, and she is giddy with excitement as she beams up at him.

"Oh, thank you! These look delicious! You're the best, do you know that?" She dives right in, moaning with delight, and the look in his eye from where he turns near the door makes her heart thrum noisily in her chest.

"Funny. I happen to feel the same about you."

When he quietly shuts the door behind him, she thinks she just might swoon.


	12. Chapter 12

"Tywin, I don't know who your real estate agent is, but they should most certainly be fired immediately," Sansa nearly shouts from the bedroom as she marches back towards the kitchen, strung up with irritation at the utter flops they'd toured all day.

"This is our _fifth_ apartment today, Tywin! Our _fifth!_ How many luxury apartments in Westeros are either below, above, or next to the noisiest neighbors in the world?!"

He huffs out a laugh as she collapses in fatigue on the cream leather sofa, tossing an arm over her eyes in a heavy sigh of weariness.

"I'm being serious, you know. I have to find somewhere this weekend or I'm stuck back in the dorms!"

She hears him pace lightly towards her from the kitchen, and can practically feel the light-hearted glare he's shooting her for her "dramatics", as he has so fondly declared them.

They are not "dramatics", they are real life! This is a crisis!

When he nudges her knee with his thigh and she refuses to budge from her repose, she thinks she hears him mumble something suspiciously similar to _no wonder Robert never spends more than a few days with each young lady_ , before he sits down on the coffee table across from her with a heaving sigh. "How about we go for a relaxing dinner, and afterwards we will look through the ads on that website you mentioned to see if we can find something to tour tomorrow?"

She perks up at the mention of dinner, her rumbling stomach reminding her it was her great idea to skip lunch because _surely, we will be done soon, Tywin_.

That was nearly four hours ago.

"Dinner?"

She peaks around her arm and sees him fighting back a smirk as he nods solemnly in response, and she fully raises her arm back up off her face as she realizes he's finally taking her seriously. "Yes, Sansa. I, for one, do have somewhere to live, and want to be sure I haven't starved to death before I am able to return."

There is thunder in her eyes and fury in her steps as she marches after him out the door and back down to the Mercedes, until he mentions casually that he already booked them a table at the swankiest new Indian restaurant in town, if she's interested.

The growl that radiates from her mid-section embarrassingly answers for her, and he doesn't bother to even try to hide his smirk this time as starts the car and takes them across town in that direction.

Now that she's had her fill of chicken tikka masala and garlic naan, she is perhaps willing to consider the fact that circumstances may not be _quite_ as dire as she'd intimated. As he picks up the check and she finishes off her mango lassi, she hears the familiar jingle signaling Margaery radiating from the cell phone in her purse. She shoots Tywin a questioning glance, and with a roll of his eyes and a patronizing glance he nods for her to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Sansa! We are going to The Piano Bar downtown for some good old karaoke and drinks! I'll pick you up in one hour sharp missy." Margaery's enthusiasm is practically oozing out of the speaker, and Sansa can't help but feel a rush of excitement at the thought of singing (well, screaming) the night away.

A glance in Tywin's direction, and her heart is sinking into her stomach, because for all the surprises he's capable of, Sansa is fairly certain singing Captain and Tennille's Love Will Keep Us Together with her is not one of them. "Oh, Marg, that sounds simply amazing, but I can't. I'm… out, tonight."

Tywin is giving her a questioning look now as he signs the check and deposits a tip, and Sansa holds the phone away from the ear Margaery is currently deafening with her protests and mouths _karaoke bar with Margaery_.

While threats and whines and pleads echo in the space between them, all slightly tinny-sounding from the quality of the speaker, he gives her a long-suffering stare before finally breaking into a small smirk.

A single nod, and the words "you will pay for this later" and she is happily telling Margaery they will meet her there.

"WE? Who is we?" Margaery gasps, and Sansa knows that's the moment it all clicks into place. "You are bringing TYWIN LANNISTER to a karaoke bar?!" She's squealing now, and Sansa can just picture her bouncing with excitement as she rummages through her fully-stocked closet.

"Yes, Margaery," Sansa replies, desperately trying to hide how excited she truly is with a somewhat bored tone. "Tywin will be coming too."

She knows she's failed miserably by the roll of his eyes as he takes her arm and escorts her out to the car, but she also knows she couldn't care less.

Margaery is screaming, not singing, Taylor Dayne's Tell It To My Heart at the top of her lungs in the direction of Roose Bolton and his wife Walda, as Sansa gets a refill on the pitcher of prickly pear margaritas Tywin has ordered them.

She can scarcely believe it, but he actually seems to be enjoying himself, in a way only Tywin Lannister can. He's currently relaxed in the back of their black round-top booth, sipping a margarita while wearing his gold-rimmed aviators despite how dark it is, and chatting amiably with a man who actually calls himself THE Great Jon.

THE Great Jon, as he is quick to correct anyone, is some form of business associate that she has never heard of, and is down visiting from the North and looking to expand his business opportunities. THE Great Jon is also extremely loud, incredibly charming, and, quite literally, a giant. Whereas Margaery, Sansa and Tywin all comfortably share one half of the booth, THE Great Jon easily fills up the other, and frankly could use a bit more room.

Margaery gets kicked off the stage to be replaced by none other than Walda Bolton herself, singing Pat Benetar's Love is a Battlefield. As she saunters back towards their booth without even a second glance towards Roose, Sansa can't help but think that maybe Margaery has met her match in Walda, after all. She slinks into the booth, face contorted like she's just sucked the juice directly out of a lime, looking for all the world like a spoilt child whose just lost her favorite toy.

That is, until THE Great Jon shoots her a wink and turns his charm on her. Much to Tywin's obvious amusement, and Sansa's growing amazement, it takes them just five minutes before they are tossing back tequila shots and contemplating whether body shots would be more appropriate at the table or at the bar.

"At the bar, gods!" Sansa shouts over the music, equal parts horrified and entertained, while Tywin snorts beside her. "What?" She turns to him, as the two stroll off, hand in hand with a bottle of tequila, in the direction of the bar top. "Did _you_ want to have _THE_ Great Jon sprawled all over the table in front of us?!"

He snorts once more as a couple begins to sing Paula Abdul's Opposite's Attract, and it isn't until she feels the whisper of his fingertips up her bare arm that she realizes this is the first time they've been alone since they've arrived. "No, my dear, I most certainly did not," he rumbles in her ear, sending shivers along her spine.

Casually picking up her glass, Sansa slides her left hand under the table and begins to walk her fingertips slowly up Tywin's thigh. He hums his approval as his hand slides down over the small of her back settle on the side of her hip. "What do we do now, hmm?"

Sansa is already wet and waiting, turned on by the briefest touch of his fingertips and the promise in his voice, sliding into a haze of music and dim black and white lights and dark corners, and she shivers once more as he slides her up against him on the bench and fully reaches around to graze his thumb along the smooth skin of her abdomen. It isn't until he growls and nips her ear that she realizes she never actually responded, and the breath leaves her in a pant when his long fingers slide down the front of her jeans to tease along the denim covering her mound. "I- um… What?"

His chuckle makes her shake, and she's a quivering, dripping mess long before he starts to unbutton the top of her jeans. "I asked you what we should do now, Sansa?" She bites her lip to stifle a moan when she feels those fingers slide under the waistband of her jeans, and she smiles a sexy smile up over her shoulder at him when he growls at what his fingers encounter.

Or, that is, what they don't.

"Naughty little thing, aren't you, Ms. Stark?" He purrs in her ear, humming with approval when he realizes she didn't wear a thing underneath her jeans. His fingers slide through her slit and over her clit unimpeded, and she's bucking and trying not to moan as he nudges her legs apart and begins to play between them. As he spreads her lips and dances figure eights from her dripping core to her swollen clit, he waits until she's truly wound up and panting before whispering in her ear once more. "Perhaps you'd rather wait until we got home, hmm? Maybe we should just stop and head back to my place?"

She is in a panic when she turns towards him, eyes bright beneath her heavy lids and lashes, and he chooses that exact moment when her lips are inches from his to slip two fingers deep inside her clenching core. Her jaw drops, cherry red lips parting in a silent Oh as he scissors his fingers and sets to work, eating up her arousal with his eyes as his fingers consume her whole down below.

It doesn't take long, not with how his thumb starts to roughly circle her clit as his fingers curl and he adds a third, and with a shuddering sigh she tucks her face into his neck and comes apart on a groan, sighing his name into his ear.

She's holding on tight, griping her thigh with all her might, as he casually slips his fingers back out, buttons her back up and shifts her top back down, bringing his arm around her to rest on the table top just as Margaery and her new man slide back into the booth, now very much sticky and very much cuddled up together.

Tywin catches her eye as they regale them with tales of their journey at the bar, slipping each finger that was just in her cunt, one at a time, into his mouth for a good long lick.

Her cheeks are flaming brighter than her hair, and for a panicked moment she fears she might have ousted them as she realizes the chatter has fallen silent, until she glances to her right and sees Margaery's tongue disappearing into THE Great Jon's copper-bearded mouth.

As Tywin signals the waiter for their check, rolling his eyes with amusement, Sansa can't help but glance around one last time at the bar.

Her guilty gaze slams directly into the heated glare of Roose Bolton's as he helps Walda into her coat. By his slow wink and his pointed stare, she knows two things.

One, he has noticed Margaery's little display, and he is not amused.

Two, he has also noticed hers, and appreciates the show.

Watching Sansa fix them a late-night snack in his kitchen, some concoction of tortilla chips and veggies and cheese, Tywin wonders how, precisely, he can help her come to the conclusion that perhaps for awhile she should just stay here. He'd made them appointments at only the most hideous of high-end apartments for the day, hoping that might spark the idea in her mind, but she has remained oddly oblivious to the manipulation and the fact that she should just ask to stay with him.

He's been hoping that perhaps, with the time crunch, she would simply ask him to stay for a while. He'd feign annoyance, make her grant him a few fun sexual favors, and begrudgingly agree, all the while plotting to make her feel so welcome she has no choice but to stay.

So far, it seems, the finesse and subtlety of his plan is resulting in no such luck.

While she slaps a rather generous portion of something she calls "guacamole" on top of the tower of chips and cheese, he wonders whether he should just drop the act and be more direct. Perhaps he should simply invite her to stay?

When she shoves a mouthful of the incredibly strange but surprisingly delicious snack into his lips as she passes, a skip in her step and a smile on her lips, he knows that is the absolute last thing he should do.

He can't possibly ask her to stay, opening himself to the possibility that she won't. He can't risk the humiliating rejection. She already has it all with him, all the control, all the power.

He just thanks the gods she doesn't know it.


	13. Chapter 13

"WHAT?!"

Sansa is shrieking at him from behind her desk, her jaw dropped in a neat little "O" that has his mind whirring between kissing her lips or filling the space with something even more delicious, until her jaw snaps shut and her eyes light up with the most adorable fury.

He affects a bored tone and a casual stance, even flicking his eyes down towards the cell phone he has no idea how to work in his hands. "Yes, I called the Dean on your behalf but it appears the move-out deadline is final and he was in the process of having your things moved onto the curb as we spoke."

He was doing no such thing, and the deadline was in no way final until Tywin threatened to blackball him from any and every future form of employment unless he had Sansa's things packed up and deposited at his apartment. Immediately.

"But- I- How could he- are you KIDDING me?!"

Tywin thinks she rarely looks prettier than she does right now, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, her long curls flying about as she gestures erratically.

She bolts up from her desk so quickly it appears she even takes her feet by surprise, and he barely chokes back a snicker when she stumbles to keep her balance. She marches around the corner, apparently deciding it is best to simply ignore that little display, and without a backward glance is barging towards the door until he casually calls her back.

"And where, Ms. Stark, do you think you are heading in that manner?"

He loves her for her fiery rage when she turns around and pierces him with a stare that earlier that very morning brought their accounts manager, Theon Greyjoy, to tears. "Oh, I don't know, Tywin." She cocks her hip and purses her lips, and if she weren't so damn cute he'd spank that tone right out of her.

Maybe throw her over his lap? Lift her skirt up and run his palms over her smooth-

"I had _thought_ I'd go see about getting back my apartment and my things. Clearly. What _else_ would I be doing?!"

He bites back his initial retort, deciding that cool and collected hero would suit him better in this instance than smug and annoyed hero. He shrugs a shoulder, flickering his gaze between her and the blank screen on his phone. "I already had your things packed up and took the liberty of sending them to my place. Since we didn't find anywhere suitable this weekend, and it wouldn't do to have an executive who is homeless, I assumed that would be the simplest solution. Unless you'd prefer the company put you up in a hotel?" He's careful to keep his eyes down until the end of the question, flicking up once to take in her dropped jaw and the warm tinge of her cheeks, before quickly glancing back down. "It is no matter to me, certainly. Whichever you'd prefer."

He waits a few beats, pretending to tap on the black screen, before glancing up to take in a smile so shy, so radiant, so utterly _Sansa,_ that it nearly steals his breath.

"I would _love_ to stay with you, Tywin," she breathes.

Apparently he's stolen her breath, too.

She opens her mouth, and by the embarrassed look on her face he knows she's about to walk it back, so before she can he gives her a curt nod and flips on his heel, headed towards the adjoining door to his office. "Very good. Let's head to the market on our way home at 6:00 to pick up some things to make your stay more comfortable.

As he pulls the door shut behind him, he can't resist raising his eyes to the cabinet across the room that affords him a reflective view of the starry sweet smile spread all over his pretty little redhead's face.

"What do you mean you're moving in with him Sansa?!" Margaery is squealing into the phone while Sansa briefly conveys the update in hushed whispers so that Tywin doesn't overhear from his office next door.

"I know! I mean, he made it sound like it was only temporary, but still, how exciting!" She is bouncing up out of her seat, heels tapping impatiently as she watches the clock change from 4:34 to 4:35 on her computer screen. Only a short hour and a half to go!

Margaery is extolling the virtues of sexy lingerie and the rules for living with a man while Sansa daydreams about lazy mornings and cooking dinner and all the fun things her and Tywin will now enjoy when she overhears "oh _gods_ what will you do if you get your … _monthly_ … while you're living together?!"

Sansa's heart sinks and her stomach flips as she realizes that little friend is supposed to visit sometime in the next week. "Oh, _gods!_ I don't know! I mean- oh _gods!_ "

"Let's be rational about this," Margaery muses, attempting to sound reassuring but coming off as one thousand percent unconvincing. "I mean, he was _married_ before. So it's not like he doesn't know what occurs and hasn't lived with a woman during that time, right?"

"Right," Sansa answers reluctantly, all the while wondering if there's a pill or a shot or a something that she can take or do to make sure this mortifying occurrence never happens while she lives with him. "Or I can just move out. Immediately. As in the day after I move in. That will take care of it."

She hears Margaery swallow, and her tone is sad as she replies, "you can always stay with me if you need to, San."

Sansa blinks back a watery smile through the phone as she whispers, "thanks, Marg."

A few minutes before five, after he hears Sansa hang up with Margaery and get back to work, Tywin quickly leaves his office and heads towards a private conference room, phone in hand. Shutting the door behind him, he counts to five before dialing the maid who is presently re-arranging his, _their_ , closet and unpacking Sansa's things in his, _their_ , home.

"Irri, I need you to pick up whatever the lady will require in terms of feminine hygiene products and stock those in her side of the bathroom vanity as well," he orders, his tone neutral and prompt brooking no room for questions.

Irri doesn't miss a breath as she replies "certainly, Mr. Lannister, shall I also purchase toiletries as well for the shower and bath?" with so much composure and professionalism he vows then and there to give her a raise.

"Yes, that would be excellent, thank you. In fact, if you wouldn't mind purchasing a selection of products and things you think she may require based on her wardrobe and what you've unpacked, I would be very grateful to you. How much time will you need?"

There's a pause, during which he can hear her scribbling a list, before she answers "if you can wait to come home until after 7:30, Mr. Lannister, I'll have it all put away and ready for a surprise, should you wish to surprise her."

As he hangs up the phone, Tywin decides she will also receive a generous bonus come holiday season, too.

They are in the middle of the frozen foods aisle, having raided the fresh fruits and veggies as well as the snacks, when Sansa attempts to explain to him the heaven that is Ben and Jerry's Half-Baked ice cream. "Seriously Tywin, we _have_ to have this."

He is dubious, his expression a mixture of amusement and annoyance, as she continues to needle him and extoll the ice cream's virtues when he turns his attention back to the shelf. She sees his eyes catch, and he knows she knows she has him when he suddenly seems to focus in on one pint in particular. "Do you see something you'd prefer instead?"

He shoots her a faint glare out of the corner of his eye before sighing and nodding towards the Cherry Garcia. "I suppose one carton of that flavor would be acceptable," he replies drolly, and her eyes light up as she tosses in a pint of each into the cart.

She meets his glare with a glare of her own. "You did say we were shopping for me, Tywin. You're lucky I even allowed you to put that in the cart."

Her tinkling laugh sends a shiver straight to his groin as she shoots him a sly smile over her shoulder and saunters down the aisle in the direction of the checkout line.

The checkout line, which is now a mile long. He suddenly remembers why he pays Irri to shop for groceries, too.

Sansa appears unconcerned as she flips through a gossip magazine and chatters absently to him about who is now with whom, what movies are coming out, which television shows she'd like to see. He's happy just to listen, nodding along with a faint smile tilting his lips, before the growl of her stomach makes even the gentleman in front of them shoot her a glance.

She starts to look embarrassed until she glances up and sees his smirk, and she drops her shame like a hot potato to play along with him instead. "So, what are you planning on feeding me for dinner tonight, roomie?" She asks him with a twinkle in her eye.

She's so busy smiling up at him she misses the horrified glance of the man now staring openly from in front of them. He doesn't though. And it doesn't take him more than a second to lean down and sear her lips in a heated kiss, right there in the middle of the supermarket. "Oh, were you planning on eating tonight, my dear?" He'd usually whisper, but now he wants the man to know that she is his and coming home with him, and she doesn't seem to mind based on the pleasant flush of her cheeks and her dreamy smile.

"Among other things," she teases back, and it isn't until she wraps her fingers around his and winks at him while nodding at the bright red neck of the man in front of them that he realizes she's known all along.

"If we make it out of the bedroom, that is," she continues loudly, containing her giggles until the man quickly pays for his groceries and sprints towards the exit, at which point she collapses into a fit of laughter, leaning against his arm as he swipes his credit card and grants her a smile.

Without a backward glance towards the stares in their direction, some confused, some with soft smiles, she twines her arm through his and leans her head on his shoulder as they stroll out into the night.

His hands are full of bags of groceries while hers are full of Chinese takeout as they come to a halt at the door to his, no _their_ , she chides herself, apartment. He'd questioned why they could not simply eat at a restaurant when she pouted and batted her lashes and chastised him for not wanting to sit on the floor and binge on takeout and talk about their hopes and dreams the way she and Margaery did when they first moved into the dorms.

He had rolled his eyes and muttered something about how _Lannisters do not eat on the floor_ , but complied and drove them to what he claimed served the best fried rice this side of Dorne.

Now here they are, shoulder to bicep (she is not nearly tall enough to be shoulder to shoulder), both staring at the closed door. She is a mixture of anxious excitement and nervous anticipation, and is beginning to wonder if he is thinking this was all a mistake before he shifts the bags, digs his keys out of his pocket, and puts them in the lock.

She waits with bated breath, shimmering with excitement, until she huffs out a breath and whines "Tywin" as he continues to rest his hand on the key.

"I thought perhaps we could open the door together, if that would be acceptable to you?" His tone is bland and his eyebrow is raised, but she can tell by the sudden stillness that sweeps through him that he is just as anxious and excited as she is.

"Yes!" She blurts, clasping her hand around his on the key and twisting it, ignoring his huff of laughter as she shoves the door open wide and marches right in.

"I cannot believe I forgot to have that done today," she hears him mutter behind her, as he gently shuts the door and she stands there in wonder, eyes sweeping the place she's been in more than a few times but searching with renewed awe now that she is to call it _home_.

"Done what?" She mumbles absently, still looking here and there as he strolls past her in the direction of the kitchen.

"I forgot to have your key made."

She smiles so wide her cheeks hurt as she kicks off her shoes and rushes to the coffee table, unpacking container after container while he puts away the groceries. "That's okay, it just means you're stuck with me until then."

As she tiptoes into the kitchen to grab two sets of chopsticks out of the silverware drawer, she swears she hears him mumble _then perhaps I won't make you a key after all_.

She is stuffed to the brim and sprawled on the sofa as he puts away their leftovers and positively refuses to thaw out their pints of icecream. "I believe we have indulged enough this evening, though if you simply must have a sweet, as you've so dramatically declared, perhaps one of these will do?"

She cranes her head in interest, trying to see what he's hiding behind his back as he walks back towards her with a smirk on his lips and a light in his eyes. "Oh?"

"Left or right."

She bites her lip in a grin and pretends to think long and hard. "Right!"

His hand shoots out and his fingers open, revealing a lemon curd cookie nestled in one long palm. Her eyes light up and she snatches it with glee, biting with a moan that makes his pants tighten noticeably from where he's standing before her.

As she licks every last crumb from the tips of her fingers she notices he still has his left hand hidden behind his back. "And if I'd said left?"

His smile makes him twenty years younger as his left hand slowly comes out in front and his fingers open, revealing a second cookie. "I had a feeling if I brought you only one, you'd threaten to leave immediately."

His tone is so serious, in contrast to the twinkle in his eyes, and her heart is pounding out of her chest as she pretends to nod in agreement. "I most certainly would have, and you wouldn't want that now, would you?"

Suddenly his eyes match his tone, and there's a warmth in his gaze that calls an answering warmth and flutter in her core when he slightly shakes his head. "No, I most certainly wouldn't, Sansa."

Her cheeks flush bright and she can't contain a bashful smile, and seeing him looking at her like that makes her want to dance and jump and climb right into his arms and call Margaery all at once.

Thankfully, he prompts her before she does something too terrifyingly embarrassing. "Would you like to have a look around to see if things are to your liking?"

With a jolt she realizes she has yet to ask where her things are and whether this is as intimate as she's assumed it is and whether she has been plopped in the guest room or will be sharing his room. Her cheeks flush bright and she nods with enthusiasm, jumping off the couch and heading down the hall, him trailing behind her.

She pauses mid-way down the hallway, glancing between the closed master bedroom and the closed guest room, and tingles all the way down to her toes when she hears a chuckle behind her. "What is a master bedroom without a mistress presiding in it?" rumbles into the shell of her ear.

She shoots him a saucy smile over her shoulder as she skips down the hall and pushes open the door.

At first glance, it looks exactly as it always does.

At second glance, it is completely different.

There are a bevy of perfumes on one side of the dressing table, and a jewelry stand with her necklaces and bracelets and earrings displayed next to a new little bench in front. There's a fresh vase of flowers and a select stack of her books on the left nightstand, and her stuffed direwolf is neatly waiting on the top of the left side of the headboard, resting feet away from a new stuffed lion on the top of the right. Her slippers are next to the bed, her robe is hung next to his on the back of the bathroom door, and there's a second row of books that are all hers on the bookshelf below his.

She is blinking back tears when he lightly rests a hand on the small of her back and leans down to whisper in her ear with wry amusement. "Explore left or explore right, but please go all the way in and explore."

She walks in a daze in the direction of the closet, and as the lights come on and the shelves come to life she sees that all of her shoes and clothes and underthings are put away in half of the shelves, along with a bunch of new items, too. She runs her fingertips lovingly over first her things, then his, and her heart is in her throat and she's smiling look a fool by the time she turns and makes her way to the bathroom. She's not sure where he's disappeared to but is in such a fog of happiness she doesn't even care as she pushes open the bathroom door and the tears start to fall.

She has a matching set of crimson towels, alternating to his gold, and a toothbrush in the holder, and several different shower necessities on the shelf. But the drawers, oh the drawers. It is the first with all new Sephora makeup, followed by the second with every hair styling product she could ever need, followed by the third with a nice variety of feminine products allaying her fears from her call with Margaery earlier, that have her completely melting into a puddle of happy tears.

His throat clearing behind her makes her spin around with a hasty smile, haphazardly wiping away her tears and jumping into his open arms. "Is everything to your liking?" His chest rumbles in her ear, and she is nodding and lifting her head as she hears him chuckle while his thumbs cup her face and brush away her tears.

"Very well then." He sounds embarrassed yet pleased, and without a second thought she wraps her hands around his neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

The second their lips touch sets her skin on fire, and waves of heat lick down to her core as his hands slide around from where they were cupping her face to twine in her hair, tendrils of curls wrapping between long skilled fingers as he takes control and angles her head, deepening the kiss and curling his tongue in a way that curls her toes.

She is breathless and shaking with excitement when he pulls away to trail kisses down her neck, pausing to lick a trail of fire back up to the shell of her ear, one hand still fisting in her hair as the other splays down her back to gently knead the cheeks of her ass. The moan it pulls out of her comes from somewhere so deep it must be her soul, and she is sure she will faint from need by the time he starts to push her further into the bathroom, not bothering to kick the door shut behind him.

She moans out his name like a question and a prayer all wrapped up into one, and shivers when his hands slide until the hem of her blouse, un-tucking it from her pencil skirt and sliding it up and over her head. "I thought perhaps with all the excitement of the day," he rumbles against her skin, peppering kisses across the tender flesh of the tops of her breasts, "a shower before bed might be in order?"

"Oh, _yes_ ," she breaks off in a hiss, tossing her head back as he nips one pert nipple over the fabric of her lace bra while his fingers slide the zipper down on her skirt.

His tongue is trailing over the smooth skin of her abdomen as she twines her fingers in his hair and steps out of the skirt at her feet while he growls at the wetness his fingers encounter through the matching lace shorts she's wearing below. "Well, if you're sure…" One long arm snakes out and around behind her to flip the faucet on high while the elegant fingers of the other hand hooks in the crotch of the lace, careful not to touch her as he goes to his knees while sliding it down past her feet. The kisses come back up, close but so very far from where she's aching and wants him most, as he makes his way back to his feet and unhooks her bra, sliding that off as well.

She's hazy with desire, bursting with happiness, and so wrapped up that when he gently pushes her into the spray of the water it momentarily stuns her before she bubbles out a laugh. He shakes his head with a smile and she turns her back and steps all the way into the deep walk-in shower, running her fingertips over the bevy shampoos before selecting her favorite bottle of the bunch. She lathers up and begins to scrub, piling her hair up high, and is dreamily soaking in the warm beat of the water on her shoulders that the second pair of hands that begin to scrub her scalp make her momentarily jump before sinking back into his bare chest with a contended sigh.

"I wondered if you'd join me," she murmurs, feeling like she's floating in a dream, as he works and lathers her hair before gently rinsing it clean and reaching for a corresponding bottle of conditioner.

"How could I resist?" He growls into her ear, gathering her hair and combing the conditioner through with his fingers.

She is putty in his hands, a ball of relaxation, her eyes closed and her muscles slack by the time he begins to wash her down with a silky soap lathered on a cloth. Her mind is in the clouds, wandering in space, until he works his way around from behind, two strong arms nearly pinning her to the back of the shower while the cloth lightly scrubs over the tips of her arched breasts, trailing down to tease over the front of her mound. He works the cloth between her legs, a delicious friction gliding over her clit, and her legs are shaking and her head is tossed back on his shoulder moaning his name when he suddenly bends his knees and thrusts into her from behind with a groan of her name.

His pace is slow and leisurely as he works her clit with the washcloth while she braces her hands on the tile. His lips are on her neck, his groans answer her moans in her ear, and the feeling of him grinding into her like he has all the time in the world makes her fall apart in no time, clenching and fluttering around him with a sigh. Instead of working to his release, however, he gives her no time to come down, and circles the cloth faster and faster around her clit as he picks up the pace with the snap and twist of his hips, pounding her harder and harder until a second orgasm so strong a strangled scream bursts forth from between her lips, his name echoing across the tile as she collapses back fully into his arms while he chases his pleasure before groaning her name into her ear.

By the time they turn the water off she's a sleepy, sated, contented mess. He towels off each drop of water, following each slip of skin with a kiss, before gently drying her hair and handing her a brush while he towels off himself. As she finishes combing the tangles she sees him slip into a pair of boxer briefs and lounge pajama pants, and with a dazed smile makes her way to the dresser to see what pajamas she might find in her top drawer.

The silken slip is new, and she doesn't waste a moment before sliding it on and turning to slide into the pulled back sheets, snuggling up until her breast is against his arm while he reclines with some tomb on stocks to read. Her eyes have gently shut and a contented sigh has fluttered past her lips when he whispers softly into her hair, "are you happy, Sansa?"

She doesn't even have to think, the words simply come, "happier than I've ever been, Tywin."

She's long since drifted off to sleep by the time he murmurs a reply. "Thank the gods."


	14. Chapter 14

"Remind me again why we are arriving separately from your beau, darling?" Margaery is primping in front of Sansa's enormous vanity, applying swipes of lipstick and eyeliner with gusto, while Sansa finishes curling her hair at the sink.

"We've been over this, and seriously Marg, I'm _fine_."

She is most certainly not _fine_. Sansa is absolutely _furious_.

"But it is the Baratheon Holiday Party, hosted by none other than Robert and Cersei Baratheon, and you are LIVING with the FATHER of one of the hosts and yet you are arriving separately from him?"

The judgment in Margaery's tone rankles, and Sansa nearly singes the side of her ear as she snarls at her reflection in the mirror. "I know whose party it is, Margaery," Sansa calls out, affecting a sickeningly sweet tone that she knows Margaery sees right through.

"Well, I thought it best to remind you, considering the fact that you will be arriving _alone with me_ rather than with said man. This is all his doing, and don't you try to deny it because I know it, San. He should be flaunting you! Twirling about with you on his arm!"

Sansa sighs, setting down the curling iron before she burns half her hair off in frustration. "I know," she whispers quietly, more to her reflection though of course Margaery hears her.

Margaery flounces into the bathroom in a matching robe, makeup and hair all just about finished, and picks up the curling iron to take over where Sansa left off. "Just explain it to me one more time, and then we will come up with a plan, rubberband," she says with a wink.

Sansa can't help but laugh a little, and goes through the motions and the flimsy explanations one last time. "We work together, and no one knows we are living together, though it isn't exactly a secret. To protect my position with the company, and to preserve our privacy, _'we'_ have decided it would be best to attend functions such as these separately, without dates."

Margaery's expression is dubious, before a sly smile spreads over her face. "Well, it would be a shame then if eligible bachelors threw themselves at your feet now, wouldn't it? Since you attended unaccompanied, with an eligible young lady as your only companion?"

Sansa is repeatedly saying no while Margaery is nodding along, pinning and artfully arranging her curls while repeating _yes_ at the top of her lungs. After several seconds of a screaming match, both girls collapse into a fit of giggles while Margaery finishes tinkering in Sansa's hair. "Just tell me one thing. Don't you want to know if seeing you with someone else has an affect on him? Don't you want to know if this is more than just a fling or a temporary living arrangement? Don't you want to know if it is something more… permanent?"

Sansa knows she's lying if she says she doesn't, so she chooses not to say anything at all, while tears prick her eyes.

It is answer enough.

With a flourish, Margaery spins her back to the mirror and pronounces phase 1- operation hair, complete. With her hair pulled back and over one shoulder in a twisted knot, curls now flow freely over one shoulder and down her back, leaving her ears exposed for the chandelier earrings Margaery just happened to bring with her.

Margaery Tyrell is nothing if not prepared.

Sansa spends some time polishing off her makeup while Margaery flips through the rack of dresses she brought, searching for something that she swears will be simply _divine_ , as she puts it. "Hey, did you mention you are eligible as well? What happened to THE Great Jon?"

"Nothing," Margaery says innocently, a very unusual and irregular flush spreading over her cheeks. "But it's not like it's anything serious. You know I'm only in it for the instant gratification and the fun, San."

"Mhm," Sansa hums, eyes knowing but cutting her friend a tiny bit of slack. "And will that particular giant of fun be in attendance this evening?"

Sansa is finishing up with her light blush colored lipstick when Margaery strides out of the closet in a slinky black number with a slit clear up her thigh nearly to her hip, sleek black stilettos poking out with each step. "Why, it just so happens I think he will be."

"Imagine that," Sansa replies with a smirk, tossing her hair as she strolls to the dress rack and searches through the options.

"Oh no, San, I've already got your dress hanging in the closet, shoes to match. March your butt right in there right now young lioness. Tonight, you are coming home the Queen of this castle if I have anything to say about it!" Margaery's smile is triumphant while Sansa's is apprehensive, but she can't contain her excitement and squeals as she flits into her second favorite room in the house (second to the bedroom, certainly).

Good gods. The gown is simply a dream. Sansa slides the silk off the hanger and delicately over her curls, holding her breath as it cascades down her figure and graces her curves and hips just right. It is made of a blue so pale it is nearly silver in color, with a mermaid trumpet skirt, cutouts between her breasts, and a plunging back so low she will most certainly skip the lacy undergarment she had thought to wear. The heels are identical in color, and with her shoulders back and her hand on her hip, Sansa has to admit. She really does look positively _divine_.

She joins Margaery in front of the vanity, and receives a shriek of approval from her best friend in the whole world as she finishes pinning her curls to one side. Margaery twines their arms together, cocking her hip and taking in their finished reflections. "I don't think it gets much better than this, Sansa Stark. If you don't come home tonight with Tywin Lannister wrapped around your pretty little finger, then I say you don't come home at all!"

As they slide into the waiting car, Sansa is a bundle of nerves, and can't help but agree.

They enter when the party is already in full swing, and though Sansa seems oblivious, it most certainly does not escape Margaery's notice that Tywin seems to stop speaking to Stannis Baratheon mid-sentence as they make their grand entrance. He has eyes only for Sansa, and cannot seem to pull himself away from the mesmerizing sight of her gliding down the staircase and into the formal ballroom.

Margaery's inner self is cheering with glee. This plan just might work after all.

She waits a few beats and begins to descend behind her beautifully naïve friend, all the while scanning the crowd with a coy smile pursing her lips. Finally in the back of the room, she spots him.

Well, spots _them_. Because next to her Great Jon is the man who will, without a doubt, bring Tywin to his knees before Sansa's dainty feet by the time this night is done.

Now all she has to do is steer things in the right direction.

She shoos Sansa in the direction of their hosts, begging the need to powder her nose, much to Sansa's dismay.

"You are sending me over alone?! To Cersei and Robert?!"

Margaery grants her an indulgent smile as she, somewhat forcefully, gives her a shove in the right direction. "Nature calls, darling. I'll rejoin and rescue you soon." With a wink and a smile, Margaery leaves her flustered friend in search of her current favorite toy and his companion.

Sansa straightens her spine and glides in the direction of Cersei's sickly sweet snarl of a smile and Robert's wandering eyes. She is regal in nature, confident in posture, and greets them both with all due respect and affection required.

If Cersei's lip curls as she squeezes her just a tad too tight, Sansa pretends not to notice. And if Robert's hand lingers on her backside when he tugs her to his side, she bites her tongue and pretends not to shudder.

Finally, she is released from their clutches, one watching her with hate, the other with longing, as she strides down the tiny platform, because of course Cersei had the two of them raised on a platform, and down to the ballroom floor.

She can feel his presence in the room, his eyes on her body lighting up every nerve, as she struggles not to glance in his direction. She knows he's just to the left, a tad bit too far to be in her periphery, presumably still conversing business with Stannis. She steals a flute of champagne from a waiter on her right, all the while a mantra of _you will not turn around_ repeating in her head, before she is startled so suddenly she nearly drops her half-full glass all over the front of her dress.

A veritable _giant_ catches her outstretched arm and offers a steadying hand, wrapping it around both hers and the glass, covering her so completely all she can do is blink because where her hand once was now is only his. The Great Jon's booming voice greets her heartily from behind, the very direction she'd been attempting not to look towards, and yet as she exhales and turns on her heel over her shoulder she realizes two reasons why she really shouldn't have ever been afraid.

The Great Jon is currently intertwined so thoroughly with Margaery there is nary a gap between them, and they happen to be perfectly blocking her view of Tywin.

Second, the man who is warmly holding her, one hand still cradling hers while the other spans nearly the entire width of her exposed back just above the curve of her hip, is so large he makes THE Great Jon appear smaller than Tyrion Lannister.

She can't help but stare, entranced by the sparkling blue laughter in his eyes, the hint of promise and heat mixing with his sultry smile behind a thick red beard making her heart flutter curiously in her breast. He must be over seven feet tall, and in his all black suit with his flaming red hair slicked back in a bun, she thinks she just might swoon.

Margaery's voice is what does it, snapping her back and making her close her mouth with a flush as she realizes how long she's been caught staring. "Well, I was hoping you two would get a chance to meet! Sansa, this is Tormund Giantsbane, a colleague of Jon's. Tormund, thank you so much for rescuing my dearest friend, Miss Sansa Stark, from what would have surely have resulted in disaster."

"My pleasure," he nearly rumbles next to her.

Sansa's cheeks are so red and her body is so hot she just might catch on fire.

"The pleasure is mine," she hears herself blurt in a rush, her voice oddly breathless and not at all like her own. God goods, is he still holding her hand? How on her is the palm on her back so _hot_?

"Aye, that be the purpose, if you're doing it right," he says with a broad smile and a sly wink.

Sansa is fairly certain she might never catch her breath again, as The Great Jon and Tormund bellow and shake in laughter, while Margaery tinkers and looks on with a gleam in her bright eyes.

A throat clears behind them, and from the cat-like grin on Margaery's face Sansa knows that Margaery's plan must have been effective, and Sansa is truly done for. Tormund, however, studiously continues onward, ignoring the throat and the looming shadow of Tywin Lannister as he bends his bearded face to whisper in the shell of Sansa's bright pink ear.

"How about a dance, Miss Sansa Stark?" There's a challenge in his tone, warmth radiating off him in waves, and the gentle caress of his fingertips as he slides his hand off the one holding her and her glass makes her shiver in response.

"Why, that would be-"

"Sansa, I believe you have already promised your first dance to me." Tywin's voice is commanding, his spine straight and his expression impassive, as he extends a black-coated arm to her other side, his green eyes flashing in rise to the challenge. "Thank you for rescuing her, Mr.-"

"Giantsbane," Tormund replies happily, slowing pulling his hand away from her spine, teasing the exposed flesh as Sansa takes Tywin's arm with a flush and a smile.

Tywin can't help but snort, "yes, of course." As he tugs Sansa in the direction of the floor, body rigid, lust and anger radiating off of him in waves, Sansa can't help but crack a smile at the last words Tormund sends in their direction.

"I'm happy to provide ye references, should you be needing them."

Margaery feels positively wicked and cannot help but smile wide at how quickly her plan has resulted in success. As the three of them watch the two twirl about the floor, The Great Jon cannot help but slip a few jabs in about the one who got away to his friend.

Never one to back away from a challenge, Tormund can only flash his teeth in a smile and shrug a shoulder. "Not quite ready for a lady such as Miss Sansa Stark, anyways. And by the time that pretty little lass is ready for a man like me, grandpa there will be six feet under."

Tywin is holding her so tightly she can barely breath, twirling her faster and faster around the floor, as if his very movements will make her forget even a brief interest in a man other than him.

That bumbling idiot Giantsbane and his hands all over her. The sight of his groping made him so blind with rage he stalked away from Stannis without a thought.

Sansa Stark is _his._ She is _his_ , and if she doesn't know that yet, Tywin will be damned if she will ever forget it by the time he is through with her this night.

He spins her round and round, a plan formulating as she keeps in step and follows wherever he leads.

As it happens, he leads her out the back, spinning her straight onto the terrace, before halting her suddenly and tugging her down the steps to the gardens below.

The unlit gardens.

Sansa Stark is _his._ Not just for the moment, and not just for the night. She is his, and he is hers, and it is time they come to an accord.


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you so much for the interest and support for this story. Your comments have been so lovely, and it has truly been a pleasure to write this fiction. Depending on interest, there may be a spinoff or two in the future. However, this is the end of Sansa and Tywin's story. :)**

She is breathless with excitement, already overwhelmed, and she hasn't enjoyed more than a sip of champagne all evening. She's with Tywin on the terrace overlooking the gardens, it is darker than sin, and he is nearly growling at her side. She positively can't stand the anticipation, and by the thrum of a tension rolling through her companion, she suspects he can't, either. He starts to lead her away from the lights spilling out of the ballroom, down the steps towards the waiting darkness below.

She thinks he's brought her out here for a rendezvous, perhaps to wipe away any and all thoughts of a certain redheaded Northman, and she's grinning like a cat and flashing knowing eyes at him as he shoots her a glance over his shoulder.

All of a sudden, something in him snaps, and he tugs her along roughly, to the point she nearly trips in her attempts to keep pace. His grip on her fingers is tightening to the point of pain, and now when he glances at her it is one of slight disgust.

Sansa is bewildered, hurt, and irritated, among a thousand other emotions that only Tywin seems to be able to elicit from her all in one moment.

This is decidedly less amusing.

"Tywin, slow down! What on earth is the matter?" She's almost panting, cursing Margaery to the seven as she stumbles along in these stupid high heels, trying with all her might to get Tywin to _slow down_.

"Tywin! If this is a joke it is no longer funny- I can't keep up!" She takes one wrong step and bang, down she goes. Just before she hits the ground, an arm snakes around her middle, snapping her up and spinning her back so she is flush against his chest, her eyes open wide in alarm, her breasts heaving into the front of his jacket, her hands fisting in the fabric shielding each of his arms, while he grips her tight and practically snarls at her.

"You think you can just flirt with any man in sight, is that it, my dear?" He's sneering at her, shooting a lewd glance down the top of her dress, and she flushes crimson in rage as his lip curls up in what suspiciously comes across as distaste.

She will not cower in the face of his anger. She's no longer intimidated, and by gods, he is not going to speak to her in this manner, thoughts of Margaery encouraging her as a _lioness_ chanting like a mantra through her mind. "Now wait just one minute-" she can't even finish the thought before he smoothly takes over.

"You think you can wear these provocative gowns, and bat your eyelashes and swing your hips, and I will simply _allow_ it?"

It rings hollowly in her ears. Allow. Allow. _Allow_?! Her patience is wearing thin, and she can't see past the fog of his sneers to identify if for what it really is, jealousy, and instead focuses in on that one singular word. _And I will simply allow it?_

Her cheeks flush in her rage, and her fists start to shake while tears prick her eyes, before once again Margaery's words scream through her mind. She is the lioness. The lioness is not provoked to act. The lioness is thoughtful, cool, calm and collected. All of a sudden, the rage rushes out on her next breath, leaving her with the clear head she requires.

"Allow?" She asks quietly, each muscle tensing as she readies herself for the confrontation she most certainly is willing to engage in. She is ready now.

He continues onward, eyes narrowed, ignoring her attempts to interject. "You think you may dance with whomever you wish, go home with whichever man you desire, and I will still welcome you back?"

"Why, excuse you-"

She can't get a word in, and she's so angry she's going to _smack_ him for his obstinate impertinence, but before she can he turns the tables once more, doing something entirely unexpected, yet so completely _Tywin_.

He shoves her away.

He shoves her away, and he turns his back, and she is left positively in tears, all thoughts of calm, cool and collected swirling in the dirt he crunches below his dress shoes.

He had it all planned. He was going to sweep her into the gardens, lay her down on the grass next to the fountains, and make her scream his name until it is the only one she will ever think to say ever again for the rest of her life. He was going to make her forget about that bloody Giantsbane, and never again question her place in life, as it is quite obviously by his side.

He was going to be the lion, immovable, calculating, collected.

He _was._

Now, rather, he _is_ a bloody fool.

He is a man too old for jealous games; a man too experienced to be undone by a little wisp of a woman a third his age; a man too dignified to act in a manner _most_ undignified.

He _is_. Yet, with only a glance of her soft, knowing eyes, Sansa Stark has brought him to his knees.

She'd seen right through him, had known his purposes from the start. Gods, she had likely manipulated him with that troublesome Tyrell girl to force his hand to begin with.

Well, see where that gets her. He is Tywin Lannister. He will not be brought to heel.

He sighs, wiping a hand down his brow, as he realizes that the only place he wants to be is the last place he can go.

He wants to be home, in bed, with a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a bowl of Cherry Garcia in the other, Sansa sprawled all over his lap as they watch another modern film about a woman gaining her independence culminating in success all on her own.

Bloody fucking hells.

He turns on his next step, and with a hurried pace rushes back from the valet in the direction of the gardens, praying he's not too late.

She's wandered further in and now sits on a bench in front of the large center fountain, watching the shooting water change colors like magic. The lights twinkle on and off, and she can't help thinking maybe it's the perfect metaphor for her life, and what is happening now.

A light twinkled on when she first sent those pictures, changing colors as the temperament and nature of their relationship changed, and now it is time for it to blink off once more.

She sighs, slipping her feet out of her stupid shoes to dip her toes into the pool of the fountain. She's in too much disbelief to cry at the moment, and instead allows her mind to wander, not ready to face the sad smile of her best friend.

A mistake of a lifetime has lead her here, one she knows she would repeat a thousand times over, even if it always had this ending. These perfect moments with Tywin were without one doubt worth it.

He's opened her eyes to all she has to offer, built up her confidence and given her the world, and even the sight of his retreat cannot damper her enthusiasm for her profession, for her feminine freedoms, for her sure knowledge that she _matters_ , and she is _worth it_ , and no one will ever make her feel otherwise.

So yes, she's sad, lonely, and more than a little lost. But she is not _broken_. She is not _nothing_.

She is far more than simply Tywin Lannister's lady, and she finally knows it.

He hesitates on the precipice, not wanting to disrupt her musings, yet very much wanting to swing her into his arms this instant. She looks sad and distant, yet there's a peacefulness to it too.

That might be the most painful point of it all.

He's built her up too high, far beyond his reach. He's empowered her to the point that he is no longer necessary.

He knows he's taking far too much credit for simply recognizing that which should have been obvious to anyone graced with her presence in life. Sansa Stark is a star unto her own. He simply helped her see what he sees.

He's too greedy to let her go, though he knows that would be the honorable thing to do, for a multitude of reasons.

With a deep breath he steps out of the darkness, invading her peaceful circle of light, slipping out of his shoes and socks and sliding his toes into the pool beside her, carefully seating himself a space away and even more cautiously not daring to glance in her direction.

She feels him the moment he approaches the edge of her reprieve, but she just can't bring herself to glance his way. The weight of his gaze is almost too heavy a burden to bear, and she tries with all her might not to let the tears fall. Just as one begins the slow slide down her cheek, he is stepping into the pool, bringing himself to recline beside her, with nary a glance in her direction.

She feels her age in this moment, just as she is sure he feels his, so rather than dancing around the inevitable, she takes charge and dives right in. "Is this it, then?" She's quiet, soft, sad and withdrawn, but still can't tamp down the remaining ember of hope.

She can't glance his direction, but she feels the weight upon her once more, until his body shifts slightly and he's facing the twinkling waterfalls. "I would imagine the reasons to say yes far outweigh the reasons to say no, wouldn't you agree?" He too is quiet, and she tells herself she detects the same note of sadness in his tone, too.

That brings her up short. If she is sad, and so is he, then why in Westeros are they doing this in the first place?

Why does it need to be the end? Why are they even here at all? Yes, the reasons for it to end very likely do outweigh in sheer numbers the reasons to remain, but in actual quality?

She's struck with the answer, and smiles almost in madness at the thought.

She loves him.

No other reason matters when it comes down to it. The reason they must remain together is pure and simple. They _must_. For love.

She's prepared to pour her heart out, reveal her deepest feelings, and as she opens her mouth to do so, he once again retreats, toes slipping out of the water, body moving backwards, until she knows he stands behind her but she can't tell if he is coming or going any longer.

On a sob, she begins to fall apart.

She hears a sigh behind her, but just can't bring herself to turn around, burying instead into her welcoming palms as she finally lets the tears fall. The crunch of gravel is approaching, and before she can blink she is scooped up into strong arms, drops of water sprinkling the bench and dirt below as he cradles her to his chest and walks back in the direction of the house.

She can't raise her head, can't think, can't do anything but cry as he carries her around the side, up to the waiting valet, and settles her into the passenger seat of the Mercedes as if she is a small child.

In this moment she is, as she doesn't question a thing, and simply rides silently beside him as the tears fall all the way home.

He is still and silent, after parking the car carefully picking her back up, taking her up the elevator and into their home, not pausing for a moment as he stalks all the way in to their bathroom, settling her on the edge of the large Jacuzzi tub as he turns on the jets and the hot water begins to steam the air.

It is as she watches him undress himself that she realizes she's forgotten her shoes, and the bubble of sudden laughter echoes loudly in the confused space between them. He glances at her quizzically before fully removing his clothing, exiting to very likely hang everything in its place, before returning to slide into the oversized tub before her. His hands slowly slide under the hem of her dress, up along her bare calves to her thighs, before she realizes what he's after and carefully stands to let him push the gown all the way up and off. Those strong hands slide back down, bringing the lace that separates the rest of her from view down with them, until she is bare before him and he is kneeling in the tub at her feet, sad and hopeful and looking oh so _young_ as he holds out welcoming hands, palms up, in her direction.

She is quiet and soft as she twines her fingers through his, climbing overtop him and not hesitating a moment before sliding down on top of him, joining their bodies together in an achingly slow rhythm of thrusts and gasps. She watches him, and he watches her, and as she starts to shudder with pleasure he squeezes her fingers tighter, encouraging her onward as his hips move up to thrust.

It is as she breaks apart around him and he spends himself within her that she begins to sob once more. He wraps his arms around her tight, tucking her head into the side of his neck, and simply holds her, hands running up and down her long back soothingly.

After a time, he slips out of her and encourages her to sit back on his thighs and look him in the eye. She does so with reluctance, fearful of what she may see, fearful this is goodbye.

His green eyes are bright and glittering, and his jaw is strong as steel as he meets her gaze and finally, truly speaks from his heart. "I am too selfish to let you go."

It is simple, direct, and she is smiling like a fool as he simply shrugs.

It is enough.

"Then make me stay," she whispers.

His answering gleam makes her shiver and sigh, before he stands up in the tub, water cascading down around them and staining the floor as he makes his way from the bath to their bed. He sets her on the edge, leaving her wet and slightly confused as he retreats momentarily to his study before returning, a little black box sitting proudly in his right hand as he gets down on both knees before her. He opens it, revealing a sparkling ruby centered in a band of diamonds, one word falling from his lips as her jaw drops and tears once again prick her eyes.

Tywin is naked and kneeling before her, looking at her with such an embarrassedly hopeful expression that she responds almost immediately, as soon as he gets the word out. "Stay."

"Always."

She whispers words of love as he slips it on her finger, slipping inside her soon after, and she knows without a doubt that right here with him is where she's meant to be, for as long as he wants her, for as long as they have.


End file.
